Reign of the Serpent
by AlphaEph19
Summary: AU. Salazar Slytherin once left Hogwarts in disgrace, vowing to return. He kept his word. A thousand years later he rules Wizarding Britain according to the principles of blood purity, with no end to his reign in sight. Then fate intervenes, by bringing together a green-eyed boy determined to restore his family's status, and a Muggleborn girl who refuses to quietly accept her fate.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I've always wanted to write a large-scale AU for Harry Potter, but it wasn't until recently that I got an idea for the kind of world I wanted it to be. I'm going to take my time and try to do this right, so don't worry if it seems like the story raises more questions than it answers at first. More and more information about the world of the story will be revealed as time goes on. I will say that the majority of the plot _does_ take place in Hogwarts, but it won't be anything like the Hogwarts we all know and love. Similarly, while the characters are mostly from canon, their situations, motivations, and interactions will all be different. This is a completely new world, shaped by forces set in motion over a thousand years ago. About the only similarity with canon is that both worlds desperately need a hero.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

**Prologue: Magic's Price**

_Centuries ago, before wizards and witches were divided into castes, Salazar Slytherin was a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That's right: His Eminence, the High Wizard himself, was once a teacher. He founded the school with Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff, and taught there happily for many years._

_However, an argument arose between Salazar and Godric. Salazar did not trust Muggleborns, and wanted to admit only students from pureblood wizarding families. Godric disagreed. The two friends argued more and more, until the entire school was divided amongst their supporters. Salazar eventually left the school, but he vowed that one day he would return and purge the school of all those unworthy to study magic._

_For many years, Hogwarts was at peace. But then, true to his word, Salazar returned to Hogwarts, and he came at the head of a mighty host of wizards and magical creatures. He delivered his ultimatum to the three Founders – if they surrendered and left the school forever, he would let them live. Godric scoffed at Salazar, sure that no army could breach the school's defenses. But Salazar had discovered ancient and powerful magics during his seclusion, and with them he tore down Hogwarts' strongest wards._

_The Battle for Hogwarts raged all afternoon. The Founders, mightiest wizards of their day, fought alongside the older students against Salazar's forces, but they were slowly being overwhelmed. Then Godric came forth. He called out to Salazar, his voice soaring above the sounds of battle and the screams of the dying._

"_Enough of this!" he cried. "Your disagreement has always been with me. Let no more innocents die for our foolish pride."_

_They fought a Wizard's Duel in the smoking ruins of the Great Hall, their power enough to shake the very earth. After a duel that lasted until dawn the next morning, Godric disarmed Salazar. He took up his sword, a fabled weapon reputed to be unbreakable, and stabbed his former friend through the heart. _

_With a sword in his chest and his heart's blood pooling at his feet, Salazar only laughed. In his travels he had found more than an army – he had discovered the secrets of immortality. Still laughing, Salazar pulled out a second wand and killed Godric Gryffindor with a single curse. The Battle for Hogwarts was over._

_But Salazar was not satisfied with getting his revenge – oh no. The Dark Arts corrupt even the strongest of souls, and Salazar had already sacrificed his own humanity for power. A single school could never be enough. When the survivors bowed their heads to him, and Slytherin's flag flew alone from the walls of Hogwarts, Salazar was already setting his sights on a larger goal._

_He would remake the entire Wizarding World in his image._

excerpt from sole remaining copy of _The Hidden History of Hogwarts,_ written in 1758 by Nicholas Flamel and banned shortly thereafter

oOoOo

_**London, England – 19**__**th**__** September, 1990**_

Hermione Granger had always been a little bit different. When most toddlers were learning how to walk, she was learning how to read. When most children were stumbling through their first picture book, she was devouring Shakespeare and Dickens. Her parents had worried about her difficulties in making friends, but Hermione didn't see the point of wasting time with immature crybabies who didn't appreciate the appeal of knowledge or the beauty of the written word.

She had her life planned out by the age of eight - she was going to go to Oxford (or Cambridge, in a pinch), become a famous professor, and eventually be the President of a university. She may have been short on friends, but she lacked neither ambition nor determination.

However, Hermione's dream suffered an abrupt shock on her eleventh birthday. She was opening a present from her parents, who beamed down at her with their gleaming dentist teeth (Hermione thought it just the tiniest bit unfair that she, the daughter of two dentists, had such absurdly large front teeth). But that was an old grievance, its edges worn smooth by time, and it could not hope to compete against the joy she experienced upon seeing the leather-bound cover of _The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson._

She tore the book free from the wrapping, feeling as if she could fly, when suddenly the lights in the living room began to flicker like mad. Her book grew hot to the touch, and she cast it aside with a frightened yelp. Her parents echoed her cry a second later, when the book burst into flame.

"NO!" Hermione cried out, lunging for the book before her parents could stop her. She plunged her hands into the flames, holding her breath against pain that never came. The fire, now a merry bluish-green, danced over and around her hands with the abandon of a young kitten. Hermione sat back, awestruck. She looked at her parents, who were white with shock.

"Was it supposed to do that?"

The rest of Hermione's birthday was very, very quiet, although her parents were quick to assure her that they weren't mad at her – that they still loved her. Hermione had read enough to know that she had just done something impossible, and that was certainly going to take some thinking about.

In fact, she went up to her room early that night, determined to stay curled up in her bed until she had wrapped her head around this strange new occurrence in her life. Sleep was impossible, of course, and so she was still awake at midnight, when she heard someone fumbling around with the lock outside her window.

This was exceedingly strange and more than a little frightening, not least because Hermione's room was on the second floor.

"Careful!" whispered a man's voice, low and rough. "You'll wake her up, you clumsy fool!"

"Shut up," a second voice hissed. "Where's she gonna run, anyway?"

Hermione was now truly frightened. She slipped out of her covers, but as the window was already starting to open, she knew she didn't have enough time to reach her door. She wanted to scream, but her throat betrayed her – it was too dry to make a sound. She dropped to the floor and scrambled under the bed.

A pair of legs stepped through the window and came to rest on the floor, black leather boots inches from Hermione's face. "She's not here," the first man whispered.

He walked slowly across the room, heading to Hermione's closet. A second pair of legs came through the window. Hermione held her breath for all she was worth.

_Please go away. Please go away._

"She there?"

"No. Did you check under the bed?"

Hermione squeaked with fear, drawing a satisfied grunt from the louder of the two strangers. She clawed forward in a desperate attempt to get out from under the bed, but the black boots ran over and blocked her escape route. A face appeared in front of her, bearded and terrifying, and Hermione jabbed out with two fingers. She got him right in his beady, cruel eyes, eliciting a roar of outrage.

"You little-"

He reached in and grabbed her hand, yanking her painfully into the open. "I'll get you for that!" he cried. He raised his other hand, which held a little, poined stick of wood. Hermione sucked in her breath, this time ready to scream bloody murder.

"Stop!" The second man caught his accomplice's arm. "No unnecessary spells, remember? Do _you_ want to explain to Scrimgeour why it was necessary to curse an infant?!"

"The little brat nearly poked my eyes out!" the bearded man protested. Hermione let out a piercing cry, until her captor pointed his wooden stick at her and she suddenly found that she couldn't. Her mouth was shut tighter than a locked door – she tried, but she couldn't even part her lips with her tongue.

"Bloody hell," the second man complained. "Now the parents are awake for sure. And the Memory Charm is such a pain in the arse…"

"Better you than me. I'll take care of the girl, you do the parents. Make it quick, though, 'cause we've got two more cases of accidental magic tonight."

Hermione struggled vainly against the man's iron grip, wondering what exactly "taking care of her" meant. The last thing she saw was a burst of red light coming from the end of his wooden stick.

"_Stupefy!_"

Hermione woke up with a blinding headache. She tried to get up, but her arms were anchored to the bed with leather restraints. She looked around – she seemed to be in a Hospital Wing of some kind. At least, she was in a hospital bed, and there were a dozen like it on either side of the room, some with children lying in them. None looked older than Hermione. A few watched her with idle curiosity.

A boy roughly Hermione's age came walking up to her from across the room. He held a clipboard and kept his nose high in the air.

"You're awake, then? Good. Any nausea? Headaches?"

"…My head hurts…" Hermione said, put off by the boy's officious attitude. "Er… who are you?"

The boy drew himself a little straighter. "I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said proudly. "Boys' Dorm Captain and volunteer hospital aide. And this is Madame Umbridge's Preparatory Academy for Young Witches and Wizards. If you're not experiencing any more serious side effects, I should go fetch Madame Umbridge. She'll want to greet you herself."

He bustled away, aquiver with self-importance. Hermione was too disoriented to call after him. A black boy in the bed opposite hers spat on the floor, in the direction of Justin's retreating back. He had a nasty black eye and a cast on his arm.

"He- hello?" Hermione addressed him timidly. "Do _you_ know where we are? I need to find my parents!" Hermione had read once that crying was a silly use of time and energy that could be better put to use figuring out a way to improve the situation. Never had that advice seemed more useful than now, but she still couldn't keep the tears from flowing.

The boy's face suffused with sympathy. "You're freshly caught, huh? I'm sorry. They got me so long ago, I don't even remember what my parents look like. I think it's easier that way. They say it's tougher the older you are, but it stops hurting so much after a while. I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Thomas."

"Hermione Granger," she answered politely, the response automatic. Dean's words carried implications that Hermione was not willing to examine closely for fear of cracking her fragile self-control. To distract herself, Hermione asked another question. "What is this place?"

Dean shrugged. "You heard Justin. Madame Umbridge's House of Blah, Blah, Blah. Most of us just call it the Mudhouse."

"Mudhouse? Why call it that?"

Dean gave her a wry grin that held little actual humor. "Because this is where Mudbloods get sent when we're too young for work or school. You, me, and every other kid here – we're all Mudbloods, and this place exists to get us all scrubbed nice and clean so we can contribute to _society_." He drew out the final word with a girly, high-pitched accent, obviously mimicking someone, though Hermione had no idea who.

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Thomas," spoke a voice from a doorway behind Hermione. It was a sweet, girlish voice, and Hermione had a feeling that she was about to find out whom Dean had been mimicking.

She turned her head and saw a squat woman with a toad-like face wearing a disastrously pink cardigan. Her smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Hermione could tell immediately that it was completely false. Dean fell silent, the tension in his eyes warning Hermione in a way that needed no words. This woman was dangerous.

The woman patted her short, curled hair and coughed delicately. "I'm Dolores Umbridge, the Headmistess here. And you're Miss Granger, of course. Welcome to our little family, dear. You're one of us now."


	2. The Mudhouse

**A/N: **Here's the first official chapter of Reign of the Serpent. Hermione gets an unwelcome reminder that suffering is not limited to books, and sometimes bad things do happen to good people. Luckily, she's made of stronger stuff than she knows, and the Mudhouse will give her an unexpected opportunity to test her mettle.

A little bit more world-building this chapter, but not too much – the Mudhouse is a self-contained prison masquerading as a school, and the students have neither access to nor need of much news about the outside world. But rest assured – Hermione won't stay in the Mudhouse forever. Only one more chapter, in fact… If you're liking the story so far, please review!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

**Chapter 1: The Mudhouse**

It hadn't even been two hours since Hermione had woken up to find herself trapped in a strange new world. She was still trying to process the fact that she had been kidnapped by wizards – and on her _birthday!_ She supposed the fact that it was her birthday shouldn't matter compared to everything else, but somehow it still did.

Hermione was standing in an office drenched in pink. Pink wallpaper, pink upholstered armchairs, and a pink throw rug. A series of china plates hung on the walls, painted various shades of pink and lavender. Each plate contained a picture of a kitten, and Hermione was shocked to see that the kittens moved. The whole room had a sickly-sweet feel to it, like fruit rotting in the sun.

Sitting at a giant desk squarely in the center of the office, and wearing a fluffy pink cardigan that hurt Hermione's eyes, was Headmistress Dolores Umbridge. Her hands were folded under her chin, buggy eyes fixed on Hermione like a toad contemplating a juicy fly.

"You're something of an anomaly, dear. Do you know why?"

Hermione shook her head mutely. Silence seemed the best course of action, especially considering the stick of wood lying close to the Headmistress's right hand. Hermione remembered her kidnappers using something like that to knock her unconscious.

"Most children grow into their magic at a young age. For Mudbloods like you – that's a child of two non-magical parents, dear – it's considered out of the ordinary if a child awakens after reaching seven years of age. Yet here you are, eleven years old and not a spell to your name… the problem, of course, is how to make you _useful_. You wouldn't know, but the Wizarding world is not the peaceful, prosperous place it once was. Everyone must contribute, everyone must play a part in these troubled times. So the question you must ask yourself, Miss Granger, is this: what part will _you_ play?"

Hermione had a dozen questions, but she settled for the one that she thought likely to yield the largest amount of relevant information. "Er… Wizarding world?"

"Oh, dear…" Umbridge said, shaking her head. "Not a very promising start. Do you begin to see the problem? If only I could send you to the Nursery for a few years. With the House-Elves to take care of you, you'd know a wand from a walking stick soon enough. But you're too old for the Nursery, unfortunately. Legally speaking, you can only stay at this school until the end of the current term, which is a mere six months away. Even a genius would have trouble – I'll try to remember that, as it will help me to remain patient with you. In answer to your question, the Wizarding world refers to all the collective societies of witches and wizards – men and women who can wield magic. As of yesterday, Miss Granger, that includes you."

Hearing that magic existed, that witches and wizards walked and talked and kidnapped children, probably would have been too much for many people to accept. But Hermione kept her beliefs categorized like a library, into fiction and non-fiction. Umbridge's explanation caused her to relabel a few mental shelves, nothing more. Given the strangeness of what Hermione had already experienced, the existence of magic was an entirely plausible explanation.

"So that stick is your magic wand?" Hermione asked, though it was purely for confirmation. "Do all witches and wizards carry one?"

Umbridge gave her an encouraging smile. "Very good, Miss Granger! I like a girl who's quick on the uptake. Yes, this is my wand." She flourished it, and for a second the sleeve of her robe dropped down, revealing a pale, fleshy forearm. Encircling Umbridge's wrist was a tattoo of a snake. As Hermione watched, it writhed in a circle before rearing up, hood flared back, as if about to spit venom at Hermione.

Umbridge saw Hermione staring, and smirked. "Ah, yes… this is my Serpent tattoo, which marks me as a member of the Serpent caste. I won't bore you with a lecture on the intricacies of the Wizarding caste system – you'll learn soon enough. Just remember that if someone with a Serpent tattoo tells you to do something… do it right away." Her voice lost none of its sugary sweetness, but Hermione shivered nonetheless.

Hermione summoned up her courage, ignoring the voice that told her she had better stay quiet. "I… I want to see my parents. Please," she added belatedly.

Umbridge gave her a pitying smile, but her eyes were utterly devoid of sympathy. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. You're a witch now, Miss Granger. The safety of both worlds depends on keeping them completely separate. I know it's a hard thing to lose your family, but if it helps, you can think of this school as your new home."

Hermione couldn't keep a grip on her temper any longer. "I didn't _lose_ my family, you took me away from them!" she shouted. "You can't keep me here!"

Umbridge's smile vanished in the blink of an eye. Hermione quailed before the pure, venomous rage she saw in those bulging eyes. "The doctors say I must make allowances for children," she hissed, enunciating every word, "which is why I will allow you that outburst. However, that is the very last time you will raise your voice to me. Do you understand?"

Hermione could only nod. Rage battled with fear inside of her, but fear was winning – fear, but also common sense. Umbridge held complete control over Hermione's well-being. It wouldn't be smart or productive to antagonize her.

Umbridge assumed her benevolent mask once again, when it was clear that Hermione wasn't going to talk back. "You seem like a smart girl. In time, you may do very well here, as long as you abide by my rules."

Umbridge stood up and walked ponderously over to Hermione. She gripped Hermione's chin with her sausage-like fingers, tilting up her head to examine her like a horse at a fair. Hermione set her jaw and refused to flinch away, even though Umbridge's Serpent tattoo coiled less than an inch from her face.

"I don't expect you to accept your situation immediately," Umbridge said softly. "It will take time to… _sink in_, shall we say. You won't be required to attend classes this week – I imagine you'll need the free time to shed your tears, say your goodbyes, and compose yourself. But _do_ try to hurry, dear. My patience is not infinite."

Umbridge led Hermione out of her office into a waiting room with a few chairs, where the pompous boy from the Hospital Wing was sitting patiently, cradling his clipboard.

"Justin," Umbridge said, while the boy leapt to his feet, "would you mind giving Hermione here a tour of the school? I'm sure she'll benefit greatly from your experience. Justin is one of our finest students," Umbridge said to Hermione, while the boy positively preened. "You won't go wrong if you model yourself after him."

"You've already seen the Hospital Wing," Justin began excitedly, "so let's start with the Nursery. The little ones are adorable." His enthusiasm was making Hermione feel slightly ill. She followed him obediently, only once looking back over her shoulder. Umbridge was simply watching them walk away, a pink specter with a poisonous smile.

"The Headmistress's office is farthest back on the first floor," Justin explained as he led Hermione through the dank, joyless corridors. "The first floor is laid out like a square, with the Hospital Wing on the left side…"

Hermione couldn't have concentrated on Justin if she tried. She tried to fix an interested expression on her face – although it might have just looked glazed – and let him blather away while her mind worked.

As they passed the entrance to the Hospital Wing, where Hermione had first woken up to this nightmare, the door burst open, nearly hitting Justin in the nose. He jumped back, scowling at the boy who appeared.

It was Dean Thomas, smiling lopsidedly, proudly sporting a black eye and bandaged hand. "Almost had you there, Justin. Good to see your reflexes are improving."

"Childish as always, Dean!" Justin said shrilly. "But I don't have time for your antics. I'm giving the new student a tour of the school."

Dean winked mischievously at Hermione. "And doesn't she look thrilled. Listen, Justin, why don't you go play with your clipboard. I'll take it from here."

"Headmistress Umbridge specifically assigned _me_-"

"Stow it, Justin. The world won't end if I show her around. The way you are, she'll probably fall asleep before you reach the courtyard."

Dean grabbed Hermione's hand and started walking away. Justin called after them. "I'll report this!"

"Knock yourself out!" Dean called out over his shoulder. He let go of Hermione's hand when they rounded the corner. "Hermione, right? Listen, don't mind Bitch-Fetch-Me. He's harmless."

"_What_ did you call him?"

Dean grinned mischievously. "Bitch-Fetch-Me. It sounds like his name, and he does whatever Umbridge asks like a good little dog. But he's really not that bad. He probably won't even report me, 'cause he knows I've already got two strikes this week. In fact, if I were a little smarter, I'd try to be more like Justin. Best way to get by in the Mudhouse is if you don't step on Umbridge's toes. Scary, isn't she?"

Hermione nodded with heartfelt agreement. "I thought she was going to eat me."

"Her bite is much, much worse than her bark," Dean warned. "Don't cross her. I'm probably the worst troublemaker here, but I know where to draw the line."

Dean led Hermione down the hall, walking companionably at her side. Hermione was almost pathetically glad to find a normal, friendly person in this place. "How'd you get the black eye?" she asked.

"Falling out of a tree," he replied cheerfully. "Umbridge gave me this," he hefted his bandaged arm, "to encourage me not to climb trees in the first place."

Hermione eyed the bandages with more than a little fear. "What'd she do to you?"

Dean's eyes shifted, showing quickly suppressed nervousness. "Made me write lines."

"Just lines?" Hermione exclaimed. "That doesn't sound so bad. Do you have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome or something?"

"Carpal what? Never mind – here's the Nursery."

Hermione was still curious about Dean's hand, but he seemed to want to change the subject, so she let him. They were approaching an imposing metal door with a crude wooden sign hung above it, with carved letters that read, "The Nursery." Hermione stood on tiptoes to peer through the window, and immediately forgot about Dean's mysterious injury, distracted by a creature with long, floppy ears and eyes as large as saucers. It was wearing a grimy pillowcase and pushing a mop around the floor, and it was definitely _not_ human.

Dean laughed, and Hermione guessed that her own eyes must be bugging out something fierce.

"Never seen a House Elf before, huh? There's loads of them here. They care for the Runts, cook and clean, mind the grounds… basically they do everything besides teach."

"Runts?"

"Little ones," Dean explained. "Babies and toddlers. The Mudhouse takes in kids of all ages, and they stay in the Nursery with the House Elves until they're old enough to move to the Dormitories."

Sure enough, Hermione could see a row of cribs along one side of the room, and small cots on the other. In addition to the House Elf Hermione had seen first, there were several others walking between the beds, occasionally picking up a baby and murmuring words that Hermione couldn't hear.

"It's good to get to know the House Elves," Dean confided to her. "Sometimes you can persuade them to give you an extra treat from the kitchen, or trade them for toys and stuff. But you gotta know which are the nice ones."

Hermione nodded, although she didn't plan on staying here long enough to need that advice.

"So that's the Nursery…" she said, trying to sound casual. "Can you show me the outside? Is there a main gate or something?"

_Just show me the door, _she thought, _and I'll be gone before you can say "magic."_

From Dean's sharp look, Hermione hadn't managed to fool him with her innocent act. "Thinking about running away already?" Dean asked knowingly. "Umbridge has that effect, even on kids who _don't_ remember their parents. Trust me, you might as well give up now. The only way out of the Mudhouse is by biding your time 'till you're old enough to leave. I should know – I've been caned more times that I can count for trying to get out. I grew out of it."

Hermione's spirits fell, but she managed to shrug innocently. "I just want to go outside, that's all."

Dean shook his head and sighed, understanding and sympathy in his eyes. "Suit yourself. Come on – I'll show you the main courtyard."

A minute more in the gloomy corridors of the Mudhouse, and they came to a large set of double doors that opened onto a courtyard. Hermione drank in the afternoon sunlight before looking around, alert for any possible escape route.

The main courtyard, as Dean had called it, was a sad little lawn of wilted crabgrass. In the center was a stone fountain that showed the passage of time – it was chipped and eroded, the gargoyle spouting water had lost most of the detail on its face. To Hermione's dismay, the courtyard was ringed by a wrought-iron fence taller than a grown man, topped with vicious spikes. There was no way she could climb that.

There was only one opening in the iron barrier – a gate that swung inward and opened into a cobbled road. Hermione couldn't guess where they were - it wasn't the countryside, but neither did it seem like a very busy city. In the distance she could see a row of gloomy, two-story houses and a few shops, although the streets were empty.

"Don't try going out the front gate," Dean advised her. "There's an Age Line around the whole property. If you're younger than twelve, it won't let you pass. The Toad – that's Umbridge, obviously – doesn't even have to bother with guards… but she does anyway. Watch what happens if I go too close to the gate."

Whistling nonchalantly, unbandaged hand in his pocket, Dean began ambling toward the front gate. When he was about two feet away, a House Elf appeared out of thin air. A deafening _crack_ echoed off the iron gates and reverberated, making Hermione flinch.

"Ah, Sorky," Dean said. "You're looking lovely this evening. Really working that pillowcase."

The House Elf blushed, her ears twitching. "Dean Thomas, you naughty child! Don't think Sorky can be fooled with honeyed words. You're up to no good, I'd stake my ears on it!"

Dean spread his arms wide, the picture of innocence. "Who, me? No, I'm just showing Hermione how good you are at your job. She was worried that we weren't safe here, but I told her, 'No, Sorky's on guard duty. We're safe as houses.' Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Hermione could only nod, feeling her heart sink. Not only was there a magic spell she couldn't cross, but a House Elf who could teleport kept anyone from going in or out.

Sorky stood a little straighter, bristling like a guard dog. "Don't you worry, young miss. Sorky will send bad men running. Twenty years Sorky guards the school, just like Sorky's mother before her. Sorky will die before she lets any harm come to students."

_This place isn't a school_, Hermione realized with a flash of clarity. _It's a prison. Umbridge is the warden, and the House Elves are guards. I can't get out._

Confronted by Sorky, kind and gentle though the House Elf was, the hopelessness of Hermione's situation finally sank in. She was trapped. High walls, magic barriers, and dedicated guards – Hermione's future suddenly seemed bleak indeed, as stark and unchangeable as the iron gates of the Mudhouse.

Right there in the courtyard, the tears that had been creeping up on Hermione all day refused to be held at bay any longer. She began to sob, tears gushing down her cheeks and stinging her lips. Sorky made a distressed noise and looked helplessly at Dean. "Did Sorky offend the young miss?"

Dean sighed. "No, she's just had a tough day. I'll bring her to the dorm so she can lie down. Would you mind asking one of the kitchen elves to bring her a cup of tea?"

Hermione gave an extra-loud sob at the boy's kindness. She followed him inside, everything a blurred, teary haze, until he stopped outside a wooden door. "Girls' dorm," he said, looking anywhere but directly at Hermione. He patted her awkwardly on the back. "Go on in, and pick an empty bunk. One of the elves will get you some tea. Things will be better tomorrow, yeah?"

Hermione's misery left no room for gratitude, so she entered the dorm without thanking Dean for showing her around. She found herself in a room much like the Nursery, with cots evenly spaced in lines down both sides near the walls. Each cot had a small dresser next to it, with two little drawers and a mirror on top.

About half of the beds were occupied by girls Hermione's age and a little younger, sitting together and chatting. Silence fell as Hermione approached. She headed for an empty bed and sat down, burying her face in the pillow. After a moment, the buzz of conversation resumed.

Hermione shook like a leaf, her body wracked with heaving sobs, until all her energy was spent. At one point a House Elf brought her a steaming cup of tea, but it lay untouched on the dresser next to her cot until long after it cooled.

For the rest of the evening the other girls avoided eye contact, as if Hermione's grief might somehow be contagious. It was a long, long time before she fell asleep, and even then her dreams were fitful, violent things, haunted by slimy toads that spat fire and giant serpents that wrapped around her chest and squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed.

oOoOo

Hermione woke up feeling terrible, but with all her tears used up, at least for the moment. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, reminding her that she had gone without supper the night before. Hermione watched the other girls surreptitiously, trying to figure out what the morning routine was so she could copy it.

There were three bathrooms evenly spaced along the two side walls, and the girls separated into orderly lines. The bathrooms were small and cramped, with just enough space for a toilet and a chipped sink where Hermione could wash her hands and face. The dormitory seemed straight out of _Oliver Twist_, and that impression only strengthened when Hermione returned to her cot to find that someone – probably a House Elf – had put a small, tin bowl on her dresser that was filled with a watery gruel.

"Please sir," Hermione whispered, amused in spite of herself, "I want some more."

The girl in the cot next to her turned around and snapped, "Eat your food and be quiet! If the Headmistress heard you complaining, we might all get punished."

Hermione muttered an apology and began to eat. Apparently no one here was familiar with Charles Dickens. Gruel was decidedly less pleasant even than the book made it seem, Hermione decided. It was quite possibly the most tasteless thing she'd ever encountered.

When the girls finished eating and pulled on their robes, they moved in unison towards the door. Hermione didn't want to get left behind, but she didn't dare ask where they were going, so she just jumped up, slipped on the floor-length robe that had been folded up in her dresser, and followed the crowd.

That was how Hermione found herself in her first class at the Mudhouse. The building had two floors, and apparently the second floor was reserved for classrooms. The girls filed into a large classroom and sat down in rows of wooden desks. Hermione took a seat in the back.

A group of boys came in soon after, with much jostling and shoving. Hermione recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley and Dean Thomas, the latter of whom came over and sat down at the desk next to her.

"All right?" he said, deliberately casual.

"Been better," Hermione replied shortly. But she did appreciate the boy's kindness, and so she gave him an apologetic smile.

In spite of everything, being in a classroom _was_ lifting Hermione's spirits somewhat. It didn't matter if she was in a school for wizards, aliens, or anything else – the classroom was Hermione's kingdom. Just the sight of the blackboard at the front of the room was a balm for her troubled mind.

Soon the teacher came in and stood before the class, silencing them by rapping his wand on the chalkboard. He was a frail old man with wispy hair and weak, watery eyes. "I believe we have a new student," he announced in a quavering voice. "Introduce yourself, child."

Hermione stood up, uncomfortable now that all eyes were on her. "I'm Hermione… Hermione Granger."

"Welcome," said the teacher. "I'm Professor Davidson. This class is called Spellwork, and involves such charms and spells that require a wand. As you're just beginning, I won't expect you to participate. Just grab a wand and try to follow along for now."

A basket full of wands moved from desk to desk, each child taking one before passing the basket to the next in line. Hermione took one of the last wands, staring at it bemusedly. It didn't _look_ like much – just a scrap of wood.

"Does everyone remember what we worked on yesterday?" Davidson asked once the wands were distributed. "A very simple incantation – _Lux_. Practice the motion in pairs, and then we'll bring you up in front of the class to demonstrate."

Hermione watched as the students started flicking their wands. She thought they looked ridiculous. She changed her mind, however, when the first pair stood up in front of the class, performed the incantation, and summoned a tiny ball of light that flickered like an incandescent bulb. So… this was magic. Maybe not the most exciting lesson ever, but Hermione was practically foaming at the mouth from the sheer possibilities.

At the end of the lesson, while students were handing in their wands, Davidson walked over to her. "Why don't you give that a wave," he said kindly, gesturing to the battered old wand. "These are all second-hand wands for classroom use, so they won't be very well attuned to you. Still, let's see if you can't get some sparks."

Hermione took a deep breath, concentrating. She looked at her desk, imagining Umbridge's puffy face and bulging eyes. Then she jabbed her wand forward, stabbing the air as if the wand were a knife.

Her desk caught fire with a tremendous _whoosh_. Hermione pushed her chair backward so fast she fell over, while Davidson jumped a foot in the air.

"_Aguamenti_," he said hurriedly, swinging his own wand. A jet of water spilled from his wand, dousing the fire in seconds. The class went silent, all eyes on Hermione. "Well, well," Davidson murmured, looking at Hermione with speculation in his eyes. "I believe you'll fit right in here, Miss Granger."

Dean Thomas broke into a round of applause, and after a second a few students joined in, Justin among them. Hermione blushed with a combination of embarrassment and exhilaration. Oh, if only that desk really _had_ been Umbridge…

The rest of the day's classes passed without much excitement. There were four subjects taught at Umbridge's Preparatory School: Spellwork, where the students learned how to use a wand; Composition, which taught penmanship and basic writing skills (Hermione could tell that she would be far ahead of her classmates, just as soon as she got used to writing with a quill); History, which Hermione was greatly excited by since she knew nothing about Wizarding society or its past; and finally Wandless Magic, which seemed like a mass of unconnected information about magical plants, creatures, and potions.

It turned out there were only two teachers who worked at the school. Professor Davidson taught Spellwork and Composition, and History and Wandless Magic were covered by a bald, slightly rotund professor with a Romanian accent. Professor Cezar Arcos was a chubby, enthusiastic man who perpetually had chalk on his fingers. He frequently got so excited about his subjects that his words came out faster and faster until he was almost incomprehensible.

As determined as Hermione was to hate everything about the Mudhouse, she couldn't bring herself to feel that way about Professor Arcos. He was just too nice, too dedicated to teaching his students as best he could.

Hermione's first week at the Mudhouse went by in a blur. She received battered, worn copies of the textbooks used in class, and read them voraciously whenever she had a free moment. It helped keep her mind off of the deep, yearning ache left by her parents' absence. As long as she was memorizing the names and properties of magical plants, or practicing the pronunciation of the beginner-level spells in her Spellwork textbook, she wasn't wallowing in her grief. Learning was good. Learning was useful.

Hermione made a particular effort in History, because it only made sense to learn as much as possible about Wizarding society. The textbook was difficult, because it assumed some background knowledge that Hermione didn't have. It was littered with references to High Wizard Salazar, for instance, but Hermione was confused, because she found his name popping up across multiple centuries. She almost couldn't believe it when Professor Arcos told her that Salazar Slytherin was the ruler of Wizarding Britain, and had been apparently been alive for over a thousand years.

One thing that continued to intrigue Hermione was Umbridge's strange Serpent tattoo. The Headmistress had referred to it as if it were a symbol of social status. Stranger still, both Professor Davidson and Professor Arcos had tattoos, located in exactly the same place as Umbridge. Theirs were ravens, however, not snakes.

It wasn't until the end of that week that Hermione received any more information about the tattoos. Professor Arcos was delivering a lecture on the structure of Wizarding society.

"This may be familiar to most of you," he said, while Hermione fanatically wrote down notes on crinkled yellow paper, "but our newcomer hasn't heard this before, and some of you could certainly use the review with Exams only a few months away. So pay attention – that means you, Dean! Our society is divided up into four different groups, called castes. They were established over eight centuries ago by High Wizard Salazar himself. Each caste has a different purpose, and they all work together to keep our nation strong." He held up his left arm, which sported a glossy black bird. "You see? This marks me as a member of the Raven caste. We are valued for our intelligence, and often receive specialized education. Teachers, apothecaries, and members of government are all required to be Ravens, to name a few. Who can tell me the other castes?"

Justin raised his hand immediately. Next to Hermione, Dean rolled his eyes. Professor Arcos pointed at Dean with a piece of chalk. "Mr. Thomas, why don't you enlighten us."

Dean shrugged. "Badgers do the grunt work," he said, counting off with his fingers. "Ravens do the brainy jobs. Lions fight. Serpents sit in their mansions and count their money."

Arcos sighed while the rest of the class broke into laughter. "I would advise you not to phrase your answer like that on the end-of-term Exams, Mr. Thomas. You're essentially correct, though, with the exception of the Serpent caste. Serpents are the elite of Wizarding society, true, but only a relatively small percentage are either rich or powerful. Those who are both are usually heads of the High Houses, and sit on the Pureblood Council. The majority of Serpents are Purebloods from minor families that have declined over the years – while they enjoy great privilege, they are often poorer even than Ravens or Lions. This can sometimes make them resentful, and quick to exercise their power over members of a lower caste."

Though he spoke in his usual lecturing tone, he looked straight at Hermione with a meaningful gaze. His words sounded like a warning, and Hermione remembered that Umbridge had a Serpent tattoo. She tucked this away as a valuable bit of information to remember, not that she really needed another reason to walk carefully around Umbridge.

Later that evening, when Hermione was eating dinner with Dean in the grungy cafeteria, she tried to fish a little more information out of him. She had noticed that Dean seemed to know a good deal about the world, although he struggled in a classroom setting. "Badger, Raven, Lion, and Serpent," she began, while Dean shoveled a pile of baked beans into his open maw. "But what about us? Do children not get tattoos?"

Dean ate even more furiously, attacking his food as if it had offended him. "Most kids get tattoos," he said around mouthfuls, "but not us. Not Mudbloods. We're casteless. Expendable."

"Like the Untouchables in India," Hermione said, nodding.

"Like the who in what? Never mind. Look, you want to know what animal Mudbloods would be? Pigs. The Mudhouse and other schools take us in, fatten us up, then send us to the slaughter."

"Slaughter? I don't understand…" Hermione froze, fork halfway to her mouth. "They don't _kill_ us, do they?"

But that made no sense. Why would wizards go to all the trouble of kidnapping Muggleborn children if they were just going to kill them later? It was just _wasteful_.

"It's different for you," Dean said, sounding matter-of-fact. "You're a girl. They'll send you to a broom factory or something until you're old enough to have more witch and wizard babies. The government's been trying to increase the population lately – if you have four or more kids, they even raise you to the Badger caste."

"That's-" Hermione practically choked on her own outrage. "That's _barbaric!_ How can they possibly _enforce_ something like that?! Don't the women object?"

Dean shrugged. "They don't force women to marry – not anymore, at least. But most Mudbloods'll jump at the chance to jump to Badger. It means safety, and a better life for your children."

"What happens to Mudblood boys?" Hermione asked. Something about Dean's haunted eyes told her it wasn't good.

"Once we leave primary school," Dean said, his voice painfully neutral, "we go to boot camp for a few years until we can point a wand in the right direction. Then they dump us on the Border to fight the Dark creatures coming out of the East. The papers call us 'brave warriors' and 'defenders of the Realm,' but the truth is a Mudblood on the Border is nothing but werewolf chow."

"Oh, Dean," Hermione said, feeling horribly weak and useless, "that's awful."

Dean gave her an insincere smile. "It doesn't matter. Who knows, maybe I'll save a Lion officer's life and he'll raise me to Badger in gratitude. It's supposed to have happened before."

But he was quiet for the rest of the night, brooding on a future that he had no power to change. Hermione knew now why Dean tried to make everything into a joke – it was either that or go crazy, knowing what was waiting for him.

That very night, spurred by her conversation with Dean, Hermione began laying plans to escape from the Mudhouse. Hermione was growing more and more convinced that nothing was impossible – if there was magic to imprison, there must also be magic to liberate.

In the weeks that followed, Hermione took to spending most of her free time in the library. It wasn't much of a library, just an unused classroom with a few shelves of old, dusty books lining the walls, but it was still a treasure trove for Hermione. As she soaked up vast amounts of knowledge, she kept an eye out for something – a spell, a potion, anything – that she might use to win her freedom.

There were three main hurdles that Hermione had to overcome. First, of course, was the Age Line. If Hermione couldn't figure a way around that spell, she was doomed to fail. Second was the fact that without a wand – and the students were only permitted to use wands during Spellwork classes – she would be completely defenseless. Third, and last, Sorky the House Elf guarded the perimeter, and would tell Umbridge if Hermione openly began probing the Mudhouse's Age Line for a weakness.

Hermione did her best to break down this seemingly insurmountable series of obstacles into a list of smaller objectives. Item One: Acquire a wand. This was utterly straightforward, and yet practically impossible. The classroom wands were stored securely in the Teachers' Materials storeroom on the second floor, which had a thick lock reinforced with an Anti-Tampering spell. Hermione actually came across a few spells that might negate the Anti-Tampering spell, but of course, she had no wand to cast them.

To secure a wand, Hermione was going to have to use Wandless Magic – specifically, she needed to brew a potion that would eat through the wooden door, allowing her to bypass the enchanted lock. None of the potions she read about in the makeshift library were very war-like, but she eventually found what she was looking for in a little manual on useful household potions. The beauty of that particular manual was that every potion in it could be brewed with ingredients likely to be found in an average Wizarding kitchen – like, for example, the one run by House Elves that produced the children's food.

The brew in question was a basic drain-unblocking potion that had some mildly dangerous properties if it was brewed improperly – Hermione only found this out because she read the warning in the footnotes: "May turn corrosive if mixed in wrong proportions."

Corrosive – the word was music to Hermione's ears. Now she just had to figure out exactly what the wrong proportions were to give the drain-unblocking potion that extra punch.

Hermione couldn't begin brewing right away. First she had to assembled a stockpile of ingredients, a task which required a little help from Dean. He knew the House Elves in the kitchen, and regularly visited them to wheedle extra dessert, or trade pretty trinkets he'd found, like rocks or bird feathers, for sips of butterbeer.

At Hermione's request, Dean began asking for the raw ingredients that Hermione would need. He got her all of the various roots and powders, little by little, and with each day Hermione's stash grew larger. She hid her ingredients in piles in her dresser, underneath her spare robe. Dean knew she was up to something, but he never asked her what. Hermione supposed that Dean had gone through the same phase when he was younger, so he understood how she felt. She could tell by the sympathy in his eyes, however, that he didn't think she would succeed.

Just because no one ever _had_ succeeded didn't mean no one ever would. Hermione intended to be the first, armed with the very knowledge given to her by her kidnappers.

When she judged she had enough, she began brewing. This in itself was a tricky proposition, and required every bit of her ingenuity. Hermione began faking stomach cramps, and taking longer and longer in the bathroom. House Elves started bringing her a pitcher of hot water at night, which Hermione would bring with her into the bathroom. There she mixed ingredients in her metal dinner bowl, stirring them into the hot water. Each time she changed the proportions a little bit, and applied some of the potion to the chipped white paint covering the windowsill.

She flushed the remains of her failed attempts down the toilet, which soon gave the entire bathroom a funky odor. The other girls began avoiding that bathroom, and tittered about Hermione's "stomach issues" when they thought she couldn't hear. But Hermione wasn't in the least embarrassed. She was getting closer. The paint on the windowsill began to burn and flake as Hermione's flawed mixtures became more potent. She did her best to make her ingredients last, brewing only a scant amount of potion each time.

Finally, after a long week of experimentation, she thought she had it. When she poured the potion on the windowsill – being _very_ careful not to spill any on her hands – it burned a circular hole nearly an inch deep into the wood.

By that time she had also found a spell that she thought would help her avoid the Age Line and Sorky at the same time. It was in a book of children's stories that included the tale of a famous wizard thief who kept Nifflers as pets. He would tunnel into the homes of unsuspecting Muggle and Wizard homes and steal all their valuables. This wizard, Gordon Bumbergast, used a spell that tunneled underground by pushing the dirt in front and compressing it around the sides. It created a tunnel and reinforced the walls, all at the same time.

The book didn't exactly teach Hermione _how_ to perform the spell, but it did contain the incantation. And then there was an illustration on the same page, which showed Bumbergast casting the spell and then diving into the earth. Hermione watched the animated illustration hundreds of times, until she remembered every subtle detail of the wand motion associated with the spell. She just hoped that the two-dimensional wizard in the storybook was casting the actual spell, and not waving his wand around in some random motion. Hermione had never had a chance to cast the spell, but that just meant she would have to get it right the first or second time. With her freedom on the line, she couldn't afford to fail.

Hermione set her plan in motion the very next day. She went back and forth in her mind the whole morning, but she finally decided to approach Dean during lunch and ask if he wanted to try and escape with her. It was a risk, but he had been such a good friend to her – the _only_ friend she'd found in this hellish place – that she couldn't bear to leave without at least giving him the chance.

"Come with me," she whispered, trusting the cacophony raised by the other Mudbloods, chattering and eating noisily, to hide their conversation. "I've got a plan."

"Look," Dean said, hardly moving his lips, "nobody gets out of here. I helped you before because I know you've got to figure some things out yourself. But please, Hermione… don't do this. You'll get caught, and you have no idea what Umbridge can do when she's angry. She might even-"

Hermione cut him off. "Don't tell me. I don't plan on being here tomorrow, so it doesn't matter. Thank you for everything, Dean. You're a good friend. I haven't had many of those, not even… before. Take care."

He shook his head, frustration evident on his face, but instead he just said, "You too."

During dinner, Hermione faked an upset stomach – nothing new there, considering the past week in the dormitory. She left the cafeteria, checked the halls to make sure she was alone, and made her way up the side stairwell to the second floor. It was practically deserted at this time of day – classes were over, and the students were all eating dinner, so the library was abandoned.

Hermione took her potion out from under her robes – it was stored in an empty butterbeer bottle, which Dean had got from a House Elf. Hermione hurried to the storeroom door, amazed to see that her potion had already begun etching into the glass bottle. An hour more, and it would have burned all the way through.

She reached the Teachers' Materials storeroom, and pulled the stopper out of the Butterbeer bottle. Carefully, ever so carefully, she applied the potion in a circle around the enchanted door handle. Steam hissed and rose in little curls as the corrosive substance came in contact with the wood. Using her robe like a pair of oven mitts, Hermione caught the chunk of wood containing the door handle when it fell. She placed it quietly on the ground, and then swung open the door.

Jackpot! The wands were jumbled together in a big bucket, which was sitting at head level on a tall shelf overflowing with all kinds of classroom junk. Hermione grabbed a wand, and then on a whim pocketed two more. Perhaps she could sell them later, or something.

Hermione grinned. Now she was armed and dangerous. Next, she would make her way to the Inner Courtyard, a tiny patch of grass enclosed by the Mudhouse's four inner walls. There she could begin the tunneling spell, and be gone before the rest of the children finished eating dinner.

Hermione turned, and gasped in fright. Standing in the doorway was Sorky the House Elf, wringing her hands and looking heart-broken. Behind the elf, looming like an ogre, was Headmistress Umbridge.

"My, my," Umbridge said mildly, "haven't we been a busy bee. Full marks on your first potion, Miss Granger – no matter what else you've been doing, you've certainly hit the books. But your week of adjustment is over, and I will indulge your willfulness no longer. I'm sorry, but I must show you the error of your ways."

But from the avid light in Umbridge's eyes, and the way she was practically licking her lips with anticipation, Hermione knew that she wasn't sorry at all.


	3. The Hogwarts Scholarship

**A/N: **A little bit dark this chapter, but it ends on a hopeful note. Don't despair, all you Harry-lovers out there – he'll show up soon enough. This is the last chapter of the Mudhouse section, and soon Hermione will get to find out everything _else_ that's wrong with the Wizarding World. Won't that be fun…

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

**Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Scholarship**

Hermione sat at a desk in Umbridge's office, fear sitting in her stomach like a lead weight. The desk was clear save for a few sheets of parchment and a quill that looked different from the ones the students used in class. There was no inkstand.

"I am very disappointed in you, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, standing in front of her and shaking her head. Hermione's instincts were screaming at her to run for the door, but she knew it was no use. Umbridge had her wand out, and anyway, where would Hermione go? No – she was stuck here.

"You are a very bright girl. Brilliant, I suspect, although you did your best to hide that fact. However, your misguided escape attempt shows a lack of perspective that could, if left untreated, permanently damage your potential. Know, then, that what I do now is for your own good."

Hermione could have laughed, if she had any energy left for displays of defiance. _You sadistic toad, _she thought, holding on to her anger as a shield against fear. _Do you actually believe that?_

"On the paper in front of you, I want you to write the words, _I will obey the rules._ You will need no ink."

Hermione took up the quill. "How many times?" she asked in a flat tone.

Umbridge bared her teeth in a horrible parody of a smile. "I will tell you when to stop," she said sweetly.

Hermione began to write, her hand quivering slightly, wondering what torture was lying in wait. She didn't have to wonder long.

_I will obey the rules._

The words appeared on the parchment in glistening red ink, and a second later the same words appeared on the back of Hermione's hand, skin parting delicately. The cuts stung, and she hissed in pain. Her skin closed up magically soon after, but the words on the parchment remained, indelibly etched in Hermione's blood.

"Again," Umbridge hissed, repressed exultation in her eyes. Hermione couldn't bear to look at her. She forced herself to write once more.

_I will obey the rules._

Hermione couldn't keep back her pained whimpers as the same wounds opened up in her flesh again and again. After a while they stopped healing completely before Hermione had to write the next line. The agony built until Hermione could bear it no longer. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and when Umbridge said, "Again," Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I can't," she whispered. Her whole left arm was a throbbing mass of pain.

"Then I will help you," Umbridge replied, and cast a spell that froze Hermione in place. "I want you to pay attention to these words," Umbridge purred, as the blood quill hovered into the air and began to write by itself. "Engrave them in your mind."

Hermione couldn't even open her mouth to scream, though she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

_I will obey the rules._

_I will obey the rules._

_I will obey the rules._

Hermione discovered that the pain she had suffered before was as a drop of water before the ocean. It was so much worse because she was powerless to move, to scream, to do anything except breathe as the pain washed over her in endless waves.

At last, long after Hermione thought that death would be a welcome release, the quill stopped writing. Umbridge released the spell holding her, and Hermione drew deep, gasping breaths. The quill must have needed to draw blood from different parts of her body, because the words of Umbridge's sentence were carved not just into Hermione's hands, but up and down both arms as well.

"I am not normally this harsh with students," Umbridge said, watching impassively as Hermione fell off her chair and curled into a ball on the floor. "Your friend Mr. Thomas, for instance, tried to escape several times when he was younger. But unlike you, he had years to learn. You have only months left before the end of term."

Umbridge rang a bell on her desk, and a House Elf appeared with a _crack_. The elf carried damp cloths and a salve made of some sticky pulp that Hermione didn't recognize. But when the elf applied the compound, the fire in her arms eased somewhat, enough to allow her to think again.

"_Look at me, _Miss Granger."

The warning in that tone was impossible to miss. Hermione forced herself up painfully, meeting those bulging eyes.

"You might not believe it at the moment, but this is me being merciful… I may have hurt your body, but I left your mind alone. If you force me to it, I will erase everything you remember of your previous life. I don't want to take this step – there's a risk that it might damage your mind. I am not the most… _delicate_, when it comes to magic that affects the brain. You have potential, you see, and I want to see how far it can take you. But if you continue to disobey the rules, you will take the choice out of my hands. Do you understand?"

By now Hermione had her silent sobs under control, and she nodded, cradling both hands to her chest. The salve the House Elf had given her must have been magical, because it made that soul-consuming agony shrink to a mere throbbing ache.

"What you need is time to reflect on what you've done," Umbridge said, "and what you've learned today." She gestured peremptorily to the House Elf, who was wringing her hands in silent sympathy with Hermione's suffering. "Noddy, take Hermione to the Contemplation Room. See that she is fed and her wounds treated."

Noddy led Hermione away. She kept her eyes on the floor, though she felt Umbridge's eyes on her the whole way out.

The "Contemplation Room" turned out to be a tiny cell of a room with blank gray walls and a tiny cot hardly any softer than the stone floor. To Hermione's relief, there was a toilet and a sink attached to the wall, so she wasn't forced to live entirely like a savage. She even received a full dinner that night, and more of the gloppy salve that numbed pain. Noddy, the House Elf who tended to her, didn't say a word, which led Hermione to believe that part of her house arrest included the silent treatment.

Hermione spent the first two days of her solitary confinement like a wounded animal. She paced back and forth in her cell, and was careful not to jostle her arms. She measured time by the appearance of meals and focused on sensations rather than thoughts: hunger and pain alternated with the sweet balm of food and medicine. The movement between those two extremes defined her world.

But as her arms began to recover, so did her mind. As she gathered in the scattered remnants of her thoughts, Hermione began to realize that she had some serious thinking to do. What else, after all, could she do in the Contemplation Room?

Hermione had unlimited time, and she used it for intense reflection. It was abundantly clear to her now that escape was impossible, a childish fantasy. She didn't know enough, and she couldn't possibly learn anything when her access to knowledge was restricted, and her every move scrutinized.

Hermione had always prided herself on putting logic before sentiment, and but it was still difficult to accept her next conclusion: she had to forget about her parents. They probably thought she was dead, and she might as well be. She would not see them again for many years – maybe never again. Once she accepted that, really made herself _believe_ it, she would be able to move forward without thoughts of the past clouding her mind with regret.

Her parents were simply people who once protected her, and didn't any longer. Dwelling on them was not only painful, but illogical and counterproductive as well. What could her parents do even if she managed to escape the Mudhouse and find them? They couldn't protect her from wizards any more than they could fly.

Hermione took one whole day to say her goodbyes, silently, to her parents. She took out all of the memories she had of her beloved Mum and Dad, all of the happy and sad moments that made up her childhood, and one by one she locked them away. Hermione remembered when her parents had moved to London when she was six, and her mother and father had packed up all their belongings in little boxes. That was what Hermione now did to her memories, packaging them up separately and shoving them into a dark, dusty attic somewhere deep in her mind.

It made things easier. After that day, Hermione stopped crying. The urge just disappeared, leaving her mind clearer than it had been since she woke up in the Hospital Wing of the Mudhouse all those weeks ago.

Although Umbridge had declared that her only contact be with the House Elves who brought her food, Hermione had a few unexpected visitors during her confinement. The first was Dean, who crept up to her door and whispered to her, asking if she was all right.

She sent him away with as few words as possible – Hermione didn't want Dean to get in trouble for associating with her.

A bigger surprise came when a grubby hand held a stale pastry through the metal bars set high in her door. Hermione took the pastry, prepared to berate Dean for ignoring her wishes yet touched by his kindness – but it wasn't Dean. Justin Finch-Fletchley stood on his toes, swinging his head back and forth to make sure no one could see his act of kindness. Hermione took the pastry with a strange feeling, a kind of solemn wonder.

Justin made eye contact with Hermione briefly, just long enough to put his finger over his lips and say "_Shh!" _completely unnecessarily. Then he scurried off without looking back. Hermione gobbled down the pastry in three bites.

To fill her empty days, Hermione began rereading books in her mind. Her memory was sharp, and every book she had ever read was still there, waiting to be revisited. It occurred to her that while all these books had been written by Muggles with no notion that witches or wizards existed, the stories might still contain some nuggets of advice or slivers of comfort.

Hermione knew that her life wasn't a children's story like _A Little Princess_, where a kind, rich neighbor saw her plight and rescued her. It wasn't _Anne of Green Gables_, where a poor orphan melted her guardian's cold heart and made a new life for herself (Hermione almost laughed, imagining someone trying to melt Umbridge's heart). No, Hermione's life was a tragedy – the Greek kind of tragedy, filled with monsters and people who killed for no reason.

Thinking about drama, naturally enough, led Hermione to thinking about Shakespeare, that most famous of English playwrights. Like any good English schoolgirl, Hermione had read her Shakespeare, and it was the Bard himself who led Hermione to her epiphany: if her life was a tragedy, why not make it a revenge tragedy?

In his play _The Tempest_, Hermione knew, Shakespeare wrote about a man name Prospero who was shipwrecked on a mystical island. When Prospero found himself betrayed and alone, he didn't mope around and cry about his lost family. He mastered the magic of the island, forcing powerful spirits to do his bidding. And when the men who had betrayed Prospero sailed too close to the island, Prospero sent out his captive spirits and broke their ship to pieces.

Hermione, like Prospero, had a unique opportunity to learn magic. One day soon she would leave the Mudhouse, and learn the secrets of the magic that allowed this society to function. She would learn faster than any witch or wizard ever had. In a glorious alchemical transformation, Hermione would turn knowledge into magic, and magic into power. If only she could learn enough, one day she would be free.

There was only difference between Hermione and Shakespeare's protagonist: Prospero forgave his former tormentors by the end of _The Tempest_. Hermione would be damned if she ever forgave Umbridge. She would bring the Mudhouse crashing down around the Toad's ears, and see about carving a few choice sentences into _her_ saggy skin.

When the Headmistress opened the door to her cell on the morning of her fourth day in solitary confinement, Hermione's arms no longer hurt, and her eyes were dry.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Umbridge asked her.

Hermione nodded. "I'll be good," she declared fervently… but she wasn't answering Umbridge. She was making a promise to herself.

_I'll be better than good, you old hag. I'll be the best witch you've ever seen. And I'll be the last witch you ever see._

Hermione returned to the dormitories that very day. She was greeted openly by Dean, and with averted eyes and whispers by almost everyone else. That was fine – she had never needed friends before, and she certainly didn't need them now. A purpose was better than friends, or family. No one could take a purpose away from you.

Hermione settled into the usual course of life at the Mudhouse, with a few changes. She began raising her hand in class, not just to offer the correct answer, but to ask questions. Hermione knew that her teachers weren't telling the whole story – how could they, when they were teaching children? Not everyone could remember the amount of information that Hermione kept stored in her head, and even fewer could understand ideas above a certain level of complexity. So the teachers dumbed down their lessons, doling out information in small, digestible chunks. Hermione set out to find herself an all-you-can-eat buffet.

She challenged Davidson and Arcos on every point of logic, and asked for clarification whenever they touched on a topic or hinted at knowledge too advanced for the class. Davidson began ignoring her, because her questions wore out his patience and even his knowledge after a while. But Arcos gloried in her questions – having a student genuinely interested in learning was like a Christmas present to him, and he would often stay behind and talk with Hermione about the finer points of History or Wandless Magic.

Now that Hermione was trying, she quickly established herself as the top student in the Mudhouse, surpassing even Justin. However, that wasn't the only change she made following her solitary confinement. She wanted Umbridge to believe that she had truly learned her lesson, and that meant more than participating in class. The key, of course, was written directly into her flesh: _I must obey the rules._

Hermione started obeying the rules, the little and the big. She became a worse stickler than Justin – she upheld all of the rules of the Mudhouse, and even reprimanded the younger girls when they broke them. She confiscated harmless contraband like sweets and toys, and scolded anyone she heard refer to the school as "the Mudhouse" instead of "the Academy" or "Madame Umbridge's Preparatory Academy."

It soon became clear that Umbridge was familiar with the concept of the carrot and the stick – she had punished Hermione for bad behavior, and now rewarded her for being good. Hermione was named Assistant Dorm Captain, even though she had arrived at the Mudhouse halfway through her final term. Though it made her life an endless cycle of misery, Hermione shaped herself into a brown-nosing know-it-all. Dean Thomas had once told her that if he was smart, he would be more like Justin Finch-Fletchley. That was what Hermione set herself to do.

The one thing Hermione refused to do was end her friendship with Dean. He was her first and only real friend, and even when she made herself into an unlikable teacher's pet, he didn't avoid her. He knew she was only trying to survive. Hermione didn't know if she would have been able to make it on her own. The resentful glares of the other girls in the cafeteria were so much easier to bear with Dean eating quietly next to her, resolutely ignoring everyone else.

A week after going back to the dormitories, when her new personality was firmly established, Hermione took it upon herself to repay a debt of honor. She found Justin Finch-Fletchley one evening, poring over a thick, dusty book in the library. She approached him quietly, waiting until he noticed her presence.

"What is it?" he snapped, not looking up. "I'm busy."

"I want to thank you."

He looked up at that, swiveling every which way to make sure that no one else was listening. "For what?" he asked guardedly. "I didn't do anything."

Hermione smiled. "Sure you didn't," she agreed. "Thanks all the same."

In spite of himself, Justin smiled back at her. No matter how annoyed she might get at Justin in the future, Hermione knew, she would always remember that smile, and a stale pastry appearing between metal bars as if by magic. It gave Hermione hope. If kindness could exist in the Mudhouse, even if it was only when no one was looking, well… that meant something. Hermione had no idea _what_, but she knew it did.

"What are you studying for?" she asked casually, taking advantage of Justin's momentary friendliness to ask about something that had been bothering her. "Dean said all Mudblood boys get sent to boot camp – isn't studying a waste of time?"

"Most get sent away," Justin confirmed. His lofty tone was already back in place, testing Hermione's resolve to stay patient with him. "But if you do well enough on your C.A.T.s, you can get a scholarship to a good school." He frowned at her suspiciously. "From the way you've been acting in class lately, I thought you'd figured that out."

Sudden hope rocked Hermione like a jolt of lightning.

"Nope," she said when she trusted herself to sound offhand. "I just wanted to show the Headmistress that I'm trying my best. What are C.A.T.s?"

Justin still eyed her with suspicion, as if he thought she was trying to trick him somehow, but at least he answered. "Child Aptitude Tests, of course – C.A.T.s. All wizarding children take them at the end of primary school, even the Mudbloods. If you do well enough and get a nomination from the head of your school, you can go to school until you're legally an adult at seventeen. Work hard enough, you might even get raised to a proper caste."

From the raw desire that creeped into Justin's voice, Hermione knew this was the hope that drove him forward. It was his lifeline, his ticket to a future that didn't end in a bloody, senseless death. Not only that, Hermione realized, but it could be her lifeline as well.

"How many of these scholarships are there?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Justin said bitterly. "There hasn't been a student from this Academy to get a scholarship in a long time. The Headmistress told me when I was nine that she thought I could be the first in years. If anyone gets one, though, you will."

Everything clicked into place. It finally made sense why Umbridge kept talking about her potential, and why the Headmistress had hesitated to damage her mind by modifying her memories. Umbridge thought Hermione could get this scholarship, thereby making Umbridge and her school look good. Maybe it would mean more funding for the Mudhouse, and more respect for Umbridge from her superiors.

Umbridge was a very simple woman, once Hermione turned her considerable intellect to trying to understand the Headmistress's underlying motivations. She was a Pureblood woman and a member of the Serpent caste, but if she had any wealth or standing she wouldn't be stuck with the difficult, thankless task of integrating casteless orphans into Wizarding society.

In a way Umbridge was perfect for the job, because she genuinely enjoyed breaking people's spirits – Hermione was proof enough of that. But Umbridge was as much of an outcast in her own way as Hermione – a Serpent surrounded by Mudbloods. She had no lands or titles, and probably not much respect from her fellow Purebloods. The greatest achievement Umbridge could hope for, was for the children she looked after to rise to prominence. She could take credit for transforming a casteless nobody into a somebody, into a Badger or maybe even a Raven capable of contributing to Wizarding society.

The Headmistress _needed_ Hermione, or more specifically, needed her intellect. At that moment, Hermione knew – getting out of the Mudhouse was not just possible, it was likely. As long as she didn't give the Headmistress any reason not to trust her.

"You're really smart too, Justin," Hermione said, wanting to reassure the boy. "Umbridge will nominate you for sure. She'll nominate both of us."

Justin dredged up a weary smile, so different from his normal self-satisfied smirk. "Maybe if I stop chattering when I should be studying. Go away."

She patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, then left him to his books. There was a new bounce in her step, though she restrained herself until she was out of Justin's sight.

Hermione had one more stop to make before she returned to the girls' dorm for the night. She knocked on the door to the boys' dorm, and gestured insistently to Dean. When he saw her expression, he hurried to the door with a hangdog look, like a puppy that knew it had done something wrong.

"You," she said in a no-nonsense tone, pointing at him. "Follow me."

"Ok – just don't eat me," he said, holding his hands up in mock terror. Hermione led him to the main courtyard, and sat down on the edge of the marble fountain. The sun was almost gone, meaning they only had a short time before curfew.

Hermione got straight to the point. "Why didn't you tell me about the C.A.T.s?"

Dean answered so quickly that Hermione knew he had been expecting the question. "Before you got caught trying to escape, I didn't want to give you false hope," Dean said evenly. "Those exams are a trap. I didn't know then that you were a genius," he said, sounding slightly apologetic. Hermione punched his arm.

"Once you started showing up Professor Davidson," he went on more seriously, "I figured there wasn't any need to say anything. Umbridge'll nominate you for sure – it's not every day that a Mudblood school gets to say they produced a genius."

"That sounds reasonable," Hermione nodded, "but it doesn't answer the real question. Why aren't _you_ trying for a scholarship?!"

Dean scuffed his shoe against the ground, not meeting her eyes. "I'm not good at tests. Never have been. Don't want to get my hopes up chasing a hinkypunk, just to end up in the swamp. Some things aren't meant to be."

"Hippogriff dung," Hermione shot back, using Dean's favorite oath. "You're just as smart as Justin. Maybe you're not good at tests, but I can help you. Damn it, Dean, you should have _told_ me! I wasted a month researching spells and potions to escape, when I could have been helping us both get scholarships."

"Drop it, Hermione," Dean muttered. "I mean it."

Hermione stood up, frizzy hair bouncing as she shook her head. "No, I won't drop it!" she declared. "There's a chance to save your life, and you don't want to take it because you might _get your hopes up?_ I won't accept that. I'm going to become a Badger, and then a Raven. And _you're_ coming with me! Besides," she said, fixing her Dean with her best no-nonsense glare, "it's not like you've got anything to lose."

He sighed with resignation. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"Then I might as well humor you." Dean grinned suddenly. "But if I don't cream Justin on the C.A.T.s, I'm gonna punch your face in."

Hermione stuck her hand out solemnly. "Deal."

They shook hands, and then hurried inside to get to their dorms before lights out. For the first time in a while, Hermione's sleep was deep and untroubled.

oOoOo

From that day forward Hermione began tutoring Dean, working with him until he knew the lessons back and front. She drew up a schedule and prepared everything she could think of that might help Dean better understand the material. Dean treated the whole thing like a joke, but he worked hard – either he knew Hermione wouldn't settle for less than his best, or he actually thought that he might have a chance.

Either way, Hermione saw a marked improvement within a week. Dean _was_ smart, it turned out – it was just that he was so full of energy. He got antsy when he had to sit still for written tests, and then he got anxious, and he forgot little details. Hermione began making him incorporate movements into his studying, like stretching or pacing – she had read a book once that said some people found it easier to remember facts that they learned when their bodies were in motion.

They usually studied in the library, and often Justin was there too. One evening, on a whim, Hermione marched over to Justin's table and smacked her books down, gesturing to Dean to join them. Justin got up huffily and walked away. Hermione shrugged, and she and Dean got to work.

The next evening Hermione "accidentally" left a study guide on her table. She had written it for Dean – it summarized the magical properties of all the plants covered in the Wandless Magic syllabus, and Hermione thought it was some of her finest work. Color-coded, referenced, categorized… everything broken down to make it as simple and clear as possible. As she was leaving, she sneaked a quick look over her shoulder, and saw Justin eyeing the study guide with speculation.

The evening after that, she led Dean over to Justin's table and stood there, waiting. Justin silently moved his books aside – it was the only invitation they were going to get.

From then on, the three students worked together every day. Justin and Dean bickered like children half their age, and it fell to Hermione to keep them focused. Often, when she was scolding the boys or trying to defuse their hostility, Hermione wondered if this was what it felt like to be a big sister. It was kind of… nice. However, the knowledge of the upcoming C.A.T.s hung over their study sessions like a threatening stormcloud. As the deadline approached, Hermione drove all three of them even harder.

One evening, while Hermione was studying with Dean before dinner, she looked out the library window and saw some of the younger children roughhousing down in the courtyard. It looked like the Creevey boys were the ringleaders – Dennis and Colin got into almost as much trouble as Dean, although with them it was more of an excess of youthful spirits than any instinct for rebellion.

One of the girls in the group had smeared dirty lines on her face to represent whiskers, and tied a rolled-up towel around her waist so that it dangled down like a tail. It was a costume that Hermione had seen often when the girls were playing, but she had never been able to ask about it. Thanks to her new know-it-all persona, she wasn't ever invited to join in games with the other girls.

"Why do so many of the girls dress up like that?" she asked Dean, who was scowling at a piece of parchment as though he could intimidate it into revealing the answers to Hermione's practice quiz. "Is she a cat or a mouse?"

"What?" Dean looked out the window and nodded when he saw the children playing. "Oh, yeah. She's pretending to be Madcap Minerva – you know, the outlaw who can transform into a cat."

Hermione stared at him blankly.

"Bloody hell," he said, "I keep forgetting you were just Gathered a few months ago, with you being so smart and all. Madcap Minerva is a famous outlaw. She's Albus Dumbledore's right-hand witch – Dumbledore is the head of a terrorist group called the Order of the Phoenix. Nobody knows how big the Order is, but the inner circle is famous. Let's see, there's Terrible Tonks, Horrible Hagrid, Mad-Eye Moody, the Wolf… They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix 'cause they want to burn down the caste system and build a new government that's fair to everybody – like a phoenix dying and rising from the ashes, see? The papers say he's lying, that he's just a whatchamacallit… an anarchist… but word is Dumbledore's outlaws don't hurt regular folks, just Aurors and government enforcers."

It was amazing how quickly hope could take root in the human spirit. Hermione had never dreamed that there might exist witches and wizards who opposed the government, and now she had discovered an entire organization. "What does this Order of the Phoenix think about the way the government Gathers Mudbloods?" she asked casually.

Her tone didn't fool Dean, who looked at her sharply. "They're against it, just like they're against discriminating against people because of blood. But don't you go getting any ideas – Dumbledore has been around since way before we were born, and nothing's changed for people like us. You've got a shot at a scholarship – don't mess that up by going around asking about the Order. That's dangerous enough in the Mudhouse, but once you get out in the world it's even worse. There's a whole Department of the Ministry that makes sure the lower castes aren't getting any wrong ideas – it's called the Department of Information, and you never know when their agents are listening. They can't even tell us about the Order in History class – why do you think Arcos never mentioned them?"

"Don't ask about the Order," Hermione confirmed, nodding decisively. "Got it."

And she wouldn't ask. But she would plan. An entire band of freedom fighters was waiting somewhere out in the world. Hermione didn't know or care whether they were likely to succeed in destroying the caste system. They were free, and that was all that mattered.

Step One: get a scholarship and go to school. Step Two: find the Order and go to war. Hermione grinned. It was kind of nice when life was simple.

The end of term finally arrived, and with it the Childhood Aptitude Tests. Looking back, Hermione found it hard to believe that she had only been at the Mudhouse for six months. It felt like an eternity – she could barely remember a time before she had met Dean and Justin, before breakfast meant gruel in a dented bowl and her universe was bounded by an Age Line and metal bars.

The oldest students in the Mudhouse took the C.A.T.s in their regular classroom – Davidson and Arcos handed out the exams, while Umbridge sat behind the desk and watched to ensure that no one tried to cheat.

There weren't any surprises on the test; at least, not for Hermione. She powered through the questions, operating almost on auto-pilot. The larger part of her mind was preoccupied with worrying about Dean and Justin.

Had they remembered the four characteristics of magical creatures that lived in freshwater? Dean had kept messing them up with swamp-dwellers… and Justin had kept mixing up the dates of the War of the High Houses…

Knowing that it was out of her hands didn't keep Hermione from worrying. But the test ended at last, and the teachers collected the students' parchment and quills. Hermione, Dean, and Justin filed out with the other Mudbloods, too tense to do more than exchange worried looks.

Then they waited. They could barely touch dinner that night, and Hermione had no doubt that the boys slept as poorly as she did. The next day the results would come out. The next day, their future would be decided.

After lunch the day after the exam, Noddy the House Elf approached Hermione, Justin, and Dean in the cafeteria. They were sitting together and picking listlessly at their food. The elf was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement.

"Headmistress would like to see you in her office," she squeaked, beaming. "All three of you."

It was too soon to celebrate, but Justin and Dean each gripped Hermione's hand. "Good luck to both of you," Justin said, and Hermione had never enjoyed his pompous tone more.

"Keep some for yourself – you need it more than we do!" Dean retorted.

Their bickering lasted all the way to Umbridge's office, for which Hermione was grateful. The tension would have been unbearable without the familiar, almost fond insults flying back and forth between the boys.

Noddy opened the door for them, ushering them inside with a whispered, "Good luck!"

Umbridge was waiting for them, standing next to a short, rather portly gentleman with rumpled gray hair. He wore a funny pinstriped suit with a scarlet tie, and a lime green bowler hat. He would have been utterly unimpressive, except for the Serpent tattoo that coiled conspicuously around his wrist. From the way Umbridge oriented herself towards him, like a guard dog in the presence of its owner, Hermione surmised that this must be the Headmistress's boss.

"Children," Umbridge said, her sweet smile carrying a clear warning, "this is the Superintendent of Muggleborn Schools, Mr. Cornelius Fudge. He is a very important man, and I expect you to be on your best behavior. That means you, Mr. Thomas."

Dean ducked his head, somehow managing to seem the picture of innocence.

Fudge muttered something vaguely welcoming to the children, then turned to Umbridge, looking rather harried. "When I received your owl, Dolores, I thought there must be some mistake. You told me at the beginning of the year that the Finch-Fletchley boy was your only candidate for the Hogwarts scholarship. Now you say you have _three_, all in the same year?"

Umbridge beamed at Hermione in a proud, proprietary way. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat, but she forced herself to smile back eagerly, hopefully.

"We were very lucky with Miss Granger," Umbridge purred. "Perhaps it was her late awakening, but she is extraordinarily magically talented. Not only that, but she has a brilliant mind. Once she… _accepted_ her situation, the girl even managed to get Mr. Thomas here to apply himself. He and Mr. Finch-Fletchley tied with the second-highest scores in the school."

Justin and Dean reacted at the same time, scowling at each other darkly. Only Hermione had seen the flash of wonder and joy that passed over Dean's face first.

"I've seen the test scores," Fudge said impatiently. "But it's so unlikely – a statistical anomaly, one might say. No offense, Dolores, but it's been several years since you've even had a candidate for the Hogwarts Scholarship, and now you have three? Highly irregular."

"Test them yourself," Umbridge said. "You'll see."

Fudge sighed and took off his bowler hat, placing it on the corner of Umbridge's desk. "I suppose I'll have to. Three interviews, and four more schools to visit after this… Merlin's Beard, but this is going to be a long day."

He peered over his spectacles at the children, eventually focusing on Hermione. "I believe I'll start with Miss Granger… see what all the fuss is about. Dolores, if you would bring the boys outside to wait their turn."

"Certainly, Cornelius," Umbridge said fawningly, then shooed the boys out. As eerie as it was to hear the Toad referred to as "Dolores," it was even weirder to see her following orders like a lapdog. But Hermione had no time to dwell on this new side of Umbridge – she had to impress the man who stood at the gateway to her future.

"Very well, Miss Granger," Fudge said, with the air of a man embarking on a long and rather unpleasant journey. "Let's begin."

He started asking her questions, all of which Hermione answered correctly. Nothing was particularly difficult, and all the questions seemed to come from the standard texts taught in class.

A minute later, Hermione realized it was more than that – the questions weren't just from the standard texts, they were taken directly from the practice questions in the back of the book! But Hermione had learned those books by heart, and another moment's hard thought was enough for her to figure out Fudge's pattern. He was asking even-numbered questions from the texts, only he was working backward, and he alternated every other question between Spellwork, History, and Wandless Magic.

Hermione needed to impress Fudge, to stand out amongst all the other orphans scrambling for a scholarship. So she decided to take a risk.

As Fudge was opening his mouth to ask the next question, Hermione spoke up. "Powdered Aconite, sir."

He blinked owlishly at her. "I haven't asked the question yet, Miss Granger."

"But it's the right answer, isn't it? You were going to ask what the active ingredient is in the Itching Potion, weren't you?"

"Why… yes, I was. How on earth did you know that?"

Hermione explained what she had surmised about the pattern. Fudge blushed a rosy red. "You caught me," he admitted, embarrassed. "I do so many of these examinations in prep schools all over the country that I use a standard routine. Are you telling me, young lady, that you've memorized _all_ of the exercises, from _every text_ taught in this school?"

"It wasn't all that difficult, sir," Hermione said, lowering her eyes humbly. "We don't cover a very wide range of material."

"Don't be so modest, my dear girl," Fudge exclaimed, enthusiasm replacing his earlier bored expression. "So you would know the exact phrasing of question seven in chapter five of _A Child's Guide to Brewing Potions_?"

Hermione produced the entire question verbatim, along with the answer, while Superintendent Fudge flipped through the copy on Umbridge's desk to see if she was correct – which, of course, she was.

The examination went on in this way for another fifteen minutes, with Fudge testing Hermione's mastery of the material and her practical spellwork, using a secondhand wand that Umbridge had left in the office. He gave her harder and harder questions, and even began working in more advanced material that tested the extent of Hermione's independent studying in the library. She performed flawlessly, and hid her satisfaction as Fudge grew more and more excited.

"One last test," Fudge said, pulling out his own wand. "I don't normally do this, but under the circumstances… well, let's just see. Miss Granger, I am going to perform a spell that I know is not contained in any of the books here. Pay close attention, and see if you can replicate it."

He flourished his wand in two distinct, precise movements. Hermione watched him like a hawk, trying to catch every nuance of the spellcasting. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said, and the textbook on Umbridge's desk floated into the air.

Then it was Hermionie's turn. She made the book wobble slightly before it fell off the desk. Fudge's face fell a bit, though he still smiled. "That's perfectly all right, dear. Why, it takes most students at Hogwarts several tries before-"

Fudge was still speaking when she cast the spell again, pronouncing the second word a little differently. The book rose into the air like it had been shot from a cannon, then stopped abruptly and hovered at eye level, vibrating madly.

Fudge burst into a round of applause. "Brava, Miss Granger! Oh, well done!"

That seemed to be the end of the exam, because Fudge called Umbridge back into the room. Fudge shook hands with the Headmistress and gushed. "Dolores, I'm sorry I doubted you! This girl is a rare find, a certifiable gem, and there is no doubt in my mind that she deserves to be raised to the Badger caste. I wouldn't be surprised if, upon reaching her majority, she was even elevated to Raven!"

_Why so pleased? _Hermione thought bitterly, plastering a fake smile on her face. _It's not like _you _were answering the questions._

"I'll test the boys next," Fudge said, "but if they're half as sharp as this young lady, then I can extend my nomination wholeheartedly to include them. Dolores, your school has outdone itself this year!"

He turned to Hermione, and shook her hand with pompous affectation.

"It's not official yet, Miss Granger," Fudge said, picking up his bowler hat and giving it a little twirl, "since I have to bring my nomination to Headmaster Riddle and get his signature. Nevertheless, I am confident enough in his answer that I would like to be the first to say this to you – congratulations on your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"


	4. Encounter in the Alley

**A/N: **Hello, everyone! This chapter is a little short, but I think I found the right place to stop – the good news is the next chapter will be up soon, since I've already written quite a bit of it. Anyway, in this chapter Hermione crosses paths with Harry for the first time. Harry is not the same boy from canon, so pay attention. You'll learn more about his family's past as the story goes on, but if you've got any questions, feel free to leave 'em in a review. I'll do my best to answer, as long as it doesn't give away any important plot points. See you next time, on the Hogwarts Express!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

**Chapter Three: Encounter in the Alley**

When word got out that Hermione, Justin, and Dean had won the prestigious Hogwarts Scholarship, they became instant celebrities at the Mudhouse. The younger children didn't even really understand what they had accomplished, but they swarmed them all the same. As for the older children who would take their C.A.T.s in a year or two, some hated the trio, some admired them, but all wanted to be them. They were getting Badger tattoos, and going to a school whose very name – _Hogwarts_ – spoke of possibility and hope.

An entire summer remained before Hermione and the boys could leave the Mudhouse, and those three months stretched out like an eternity. To keep herself busy, Hermione organized voluntary classes for the littler children – since the professors didn't work during the summers, Hermione's lessons were the only instruction the Mudbloods were likely to receive until the fall.

Not too many students attended – there weren't a lot of children who had Justin's intelligence or Dean's stubborn refusal to quit. But Hermione did her best for the few who sacrificed the golden summer hours to prepare for their own exams. She held out high hopes for the Creevey boys in particular, who showed ability comparable to Dean's once she focused their energy towards studying instead of wreaking havoc.

Through it all, Umbridge treated Hermione like a prize mare, giving her extra privileges and complimenting her on the diligence she showed by teaching her fellow students. "Look at you," she often said, "that's how to make yourself _useful!_ You'll go far, child, mark my words."

Hermione's jaw hurt from keeping a smile pasted on her face, but she told herself that it was worth it. If she could help more students get out of the Mudhouse and earn a place in the Badger caste, then her time here wasn't completely wasted. Revolution wasn't always fire and swords, Hermione reminded herself. Change came about one step at a time, and sometimes that included working hard for little reward.

With the thousand and one complications that came from trying to be a teacher to students only one or two years younger than herself, Hermione didn't realize how fast the summer was going until it was gone. One day she woke up, and the leaves were starting to turn, and it was time to go to Hogwarts.

At 9:00am precisely, Hermione arrived at Umbridge's office, together with Dean and Justin. They had very strict instructions not to be late. Waiting for them was Mr. Fudge in his green bowler hat, and Umbridge with a pink scarf that Hermione had never seen her wear before.

"Today is a very special day," Fudge declared, beaming down at them. "Today you rise to Badger! Tomorrow… who knows what you could accomplish?"

Dean somehow managed to roll his eyes at Fudge while looking at Hermione with an expression of the deepest gratitude. _Thank you_, he mouthed. Hermione could only smile.

"Come here, Miss Granger. Extend your arm like so… perfect." Fudge raised his wand and placed the tip against Hermione's forearm. Though her scars had long since disappeared, Hermione rather thought that his wand was resting right where the "I" in _I will obey the __rules_ had been carved. Fudge cleared his throat portentously.

"By the authority vested in me by His Eminence, the High Wizard Salazar, I, Cornelius Fudge, do hereby raise Hermione Granger to the ranks of the Badge caste, complete with all rights, privileges, and opportunities accorded therewith." His wand traced a complicated pattern in the air, leaving a delicate tracery of light that hovered over Hermione's arm, floating down slowly, deliberately. The light seemed to be absorbed by her skin, where it coalesced into a dark blob that grew arms, legs, and a little snout. Finally, Hermione's forearm sported a complete Badger tattoo, which stood on its forepaws and seemed to sniff the air.

"Aw…" Dean said, breaking the solemnity of the moment. "Look at its ickle paws! Superintendent Fudge, sir, can mine be more vicious? I don't want a girly tattoo!"

"The tattoo often reflects the owner's personality, dear boy," Fudge said in high good humor. "See how curious Miss Granger's tattoo seems – it has that same drive to learn!"

"Like wizard, like tattoo, huh? So Justin's badger should have its head up its a- oww!" Dean rubbed his shin where Hermione had kicked him.

Soon enough, Justin and Dean had Badger tattoos of their own, and Hermione let out a mental sigh of relief. It had really happened – this wasn't some kind of cruel trick. In the eyes of Wizarding society, they were Mudbloods no more. Still powerless, perhaps, still weak… but not worthless. It was amazing the difference a symbol could make – to say nothing of the difference it could mask.

Fudge rubbed his hands together with childish glee. "That's not the only surprise we have in store for you today," he announced. "Did you think we'd send you off to Hogwarts without any supplies of your own?"

Hermione, whose thoughts regarding Hogwarts had not touched on "supplies" for as much as a second, only stared. Justin, however, was over the moon. "The scholarship includes school supplies?" he asked, ecstatic.

"That's right, Mr. Finch-Fletchley! Three sets of books, robes, and potion-brewing equipment, paid for courtesy of the Hogwarts Scholarship Fund. Thanks to some generous donations last year, you even get to buy a familiar, and wands of your very own! Now what do you have to say to that, eh?"

Justin overflowed with earnest thanks, while Hermione and Dean put on the show of happiness that they knew Fudge was expecting. In reality, Fudge could have promised her the moon, and Hermione's thoughts would still have been very far from gratitude.

"A certified Ministry employee needs to be present to oversee the distribution of the funds," Fudge went on, "which means we'll all go to Diagon Alley for a bit of shopping. Tomorrow we'll drop you off at King's Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express."

Hermione, Dean, and Justin exchanged blank looks – they had never heard of Diagon Alley. Hermione knew that King's Cross was a train station, but she had thought it was only for Muggles.

"Do they have any belongings to pack?" Fudge asked Umbridge.

"Just a change of clothes. Everything else belongs to the Academy. I asked the House Elves to gather up the children's things – they should be here any minute."

"Very well," Fudge said. "I must admit, I'm rather excited. It's not every day I get to send such bright students off to Hogwarts… and it's the perfect excuse to indulge in a chocolate sundae at Florean Fortescue's, haha." He looked around as if waiting for them to laugh, and then covered it up with a weak cough. "Ahem… well. Here are the House Elves with your things. Now all that's left is to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. Dolores, will you do the honors?"

Hermione took her pack from the House Elf who had appeared suddenly, and thanked the gentle creature quietly. The elves were even worse off than Hermione – at least she had a chance to leave the Mudhouse. They were trapped forever. If Hermione ever managed to be in a position where she could change the way the world worked, she would make sure that House Elves were treated better.

_Easy there, Hermione. One thing at a time. No castles in the sky until you can damn well keep them flying._

Floo Powder turned out to be a rough way to travel. Jumping into a roaring, green fire was one thing, but the nausea-inducing trip that followed was entirely another. Hermione stumbled out of a second fireplace into the dining room of a warm, cozy-looking pub. She fervently hoped that she wasn't about to vomit into some innocent wizard's bangers and mash.

Most diners didn't even look up – apparently visitors popping in and out of the fireplace was a common occurrence.

Dean arrived a second later, flailing his arms and knocking Hermione off-balance. He steadied her in time to move out of the way before Justin appeared, and a second later, Fudge and Umbridge completed the party.

"Excellent," the portly Superintendent declared. "To the alley, then. Good afternoon, Tom," he called out to the bartender. "Keep the Firewhiskey ready, my good man… I'll be back for a tot once we get these young ones properly kitted up!"

Out in the alley behind the pub, Fudge tapped a particular brick with his wand. The wall split down the middle, sliding apart to reveal an explosion of color and magic and life.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Fudge announced, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione couldn't imagine anything so different from the dreary, lifeless stone walls of the Mudhouse. The cobbled street was packed with wizards and witches scrambling every which way, fighting through the crowd to dart in and out of countless shops selling everything under the sun. Owls swooped and dove overhead, letters tied to their feet with brightly-colored string; magical signs flashed different colors, changing each second to entice passersby; here, it seemed, was the bustling heart of Wizarding society.

"Stay close," Umbridge warned as they began making their way through the crowd. "I won't have you wandering off."

They hadn't gone far when Fudge grabbed Umbridge's arm, pointing through the window of a fancy clothing store. A sign out front read, "_Absolutely no pets, Badgers, or Mudbloods allowed._"

"Is that Lord Malfoy?" Fudge asked excitedly.

"I believe it is, Cornelius. He must be buying new robes for his youngest boy – I think he begins at Hogwarts this year."

"Oh," Fudge declared, staring hungrily through the window, "I must pay my respects. Perhaps I can mention the new draft of next year's budget… Dolores, do you think the children can make it to Ollivander's on their own?"

"Certainly." Umbridge gave the three children what Hermione privately termed her 'warning smile.' "I think we can trust these three to do as they're told. Ollivander's is the wand shop just ahead. Go there and wait for us – if you're not there when we arrive, I will be very upset."

"Yes, Headmistress Umbridge," three voices chorused.

Just like that, they were free. Fudge and Umbridge walked eagerly into the store, leaving the children on their own in the most interesting street in the world. "What was that about not wandering off, eh?" Dean whispered to Hermione with a crooked grin. "Bunch of hypocrites – can't even follow their own instructions."

"Come on, you two," Justin said, instantly appointing himself the leader. "I think I see the sign for Ollivander's up ahead. Let's not give the Headmistress any reason to be upset with us."

Dean clapped Justin on the back. "For once, my friend, you speak wisdom. Lead on."

As they walked, Hermione tried not to be distracted by the flashing lights, the impossible wonders, the dazzling displays of magic – instead, she watched the people milling around her. The only tattooed wizards she had met besides Fudge and Umbridge were Professor Davidson and Professor Arcos, who were hardly a representative sample. This was Hermione's first time seeing Wizarding society as such, and she set herself to observe as closely as she could.

Despite the chill in the September air, most wizards wore robes with sleeves that revealed their caste tattoos. Soon Hermione started to notice differences between wizards of different castes, differences that went beyond which tattoo they bore. The Serpents usually wore robes of markedly higher quality than everyone else, with rich embroidery and intricate designs. Some were surrounded by a coterie of lesser witches and wizards, sometimes bodyguards or an entourage or both, who carved wide swathes through the crowd. Part of navigating Diagon Alley included knowing when to jump aside – Hermione wasn't sure what would happen if a lower-caste wizard got in the way of an important Serpent and his retinue, but she knew she didn't want to find out.

Lions were perhaps the most distinctive, because most members of the warrior caste did not wear the usual Wizarding robes. They wore uniforms of light green and silver, with a striking cobra emblazoned on the back. Some officers, Hermione noted, bore Muggle weapons like swords or daggers – she wondered if the Lion officers actually used them, or if they were purely ceremonial. Dean saw her looking, and nudged her.

"The ones in uniforms are officers in Salazar's Army, probably on leave from the Border. Don't mess with them – they're supposed to be real rough types."

Officers like these, Hermione realized, would have commanded Dean and Justin, if the two boys had ended up serving on the Border instead of winning scholarships. She hoped that they were kind, and kept as many poor Mudbloods alive as possible. But from what she'd seen of upper-caste wizards so far, she doubted it.

Here and there were street stalls selling various magical knickknacks, snacks, and even newspapers. The shouts of stall owners punctuated the general roar of the crowd with snippets of news.

"…Terrible Tonks spotted near Kent…"

"…officials worried about recent Order activity…"

"…Reports of Dementors stirring near the Border…"

It was impossible to focus on any one thing, with so much information clamoring to be heard, or seen – or even smelled, in the case of the deep-fried batter stall that periodically sent clouds of powdered sugar into the air, which then danced and swirled into appealing shapes before dissolving into sugary raindrops that fell into open mouths.

"Here it is!" Justin announced, pointing to a rather dingy shop with a wooden sign reading, "Ollivander's."

Hermione looked at the shop, then around at the hustle and bustle of the street. She wanted to lose herself in the crowd – not to run away, of course. She knew she would never get far, and besides, her plans required an education that she could only get at a school like Hogwarts. But some part of her, the part that bristled every time Umbridge patted her on the shoulder like a clever pet, longed to disobey an order, even one so small as "Go straight to Ollivander's."

"I want to explore a bit," she heard herself saying. "The Toad will be a few more minutes, at least."

"The _Headmistress_," Justin said shrilly, emphasizing her title, "will be along shortly, and if we're not waiting for her…"

"Then stay here," Dean shrugged. "If by some chance they get here before we come back, just say we got separated by the crowd. One of those Serpent blokes came along, maybe, and we had to scatter. Use your imagination."

Hermione and Dean left while Justin was still spluttering in front of the wand shop. They walked side-by-side, letting the vibrant atmosphere of Diagon Alley wash over them. After a few moments of blissful and carefree wandering, however, Dean tugged on Hermione's sleeve.

"We really should get back. As much as I hate to agree with Justin, we don't want to piss off the Toad when we're so close to getting away from her for good."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Let's go back, then." But as they turned to make their way back to Ollivander's, a commotion arose somewhere ahead of them, momentarily blocking traffic. Dean and Hermione used their smaller size to dart in between older wizards and witches, drawing closer to the source of the confusion.

In the middle of the street, a small circle had opened up around a man and a woman. The man had a Serpent tattoo on his left arm, but no retinue of servants or hangers-on. His wand was out, and he seemed to be yelling at a woman carrying an assortment of bags full of school supplies. As the woman placed the bags down, Hermione saw that she had no tattoo on her left arm – she was a Mudblood, then, and had somehow angered the wizard. Shards of broken glass littered the cobblestones around the wizard's feet, and a wisp of strangely-colored smoke curled slowly upwards.

"You stupid cow!" railed the Serpent, spittle flying from his lips. "Mudblood bitch! Learn to make way for your betters, or else stay in the hole you crawled out from. Twenty galleons worth of potions you just broke – twenty galleons!"

Faced with such venomous words, the Mudblood woman showed admirable composure. She was quite striking, Hermione thought – long, dark red hair falling to her shoulders, and piercing green eyes that looked steadily at her tormentor. It was clear that she had been stunning once, and was still beautiful in middle age, but with lines around her eyes that spoke of much suffering. "I apologize for the inconvenience I caused you," the red-haired woman said, her voice rich, low, and perfectly clear. "If you tell me what items were broken, I will pay to have them replaced."

The calm reply only seemed to enrage the wizard more. "You… you impudent Mudblood! I'll take the price out of your flesh!" He raised his wand as Hermione looked around, horrified, wondering when someone would put a stop to this madness.

"Stop!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief which choked off immediately when she saw that the cry had come from a boy no older than she. A skinny boy with unruly black hair and green eyes burst into the circle, breathing heavily from fighting his way through the crowd. His left arm bore a Lion tattoo, and in his hand he held a cage with a beautiful snowy owl. His wand was in his other hand, pointing straight at the wizard about to attack his mother – Hermione guessed they must be mother and son, for they had the same eyes.

"Have you no honor?" the boy demanded in a shrill voice. "Do you think it's fun to attack people for no reason?"

"Stay out of this, Harry!" the woman hissed, her mask of composure cracking for the first time. "Obey me at once." But it was too late – the older wizard's attention was locked on the boy.

"A little Lion cub," the Serpent laughed. "How touching. But I see no woman, boy. I see a dog that needs a lesson, and I intend to give her one. How do you propose to stop me, eh? The law is on my side, after all. What a Serpent does to a Mudblood is the business of the Serpent alone."

"The law can go hang," the boy declared, raising his wand higher. "I'll stop you myself."

Hermione looked around once again, but none of the spectators made a move to stop the fight unfolding – indeed, many of them were murmuring with amusement, even anticipation. A grown man was about to hurt a child and his mother, and the crowd considered it entertainment! If Hermione had been carrying a wand, she would have hexed the lot of them.

"Hermione," Dean's voice distracted her from her increasingly wrathful thoughts. "Here, take this." Hermione looked down. Her friend had somehow managed to snatch three cream-filled pastries from some unsuspecting witch or wizard, and he offered her one with a roguish wink. "Just like snowball fights with the Runts," he whispered. "Remember: aim high."

Hermione's heart soared, and soon afterward her pastry did, too. Hermione's missile hit the wizard smack in the center of his back, while Dean's got him squarely in the back of the head. They exchanged high fives as the wizard whirled around, livid.

"Oops – time to go." They tried to turn and run, but they had left it too late. Their muscles froze, locked in place by invisible bonds that felt stronger than steel. Inside her head, Hermione said a very dirty word. The Serpent walked deliberately towards them, a vein twitching in his temple. It was official – they were in trouble.

A familiar voice rang out from the crowd, somewhere off to the left. "Pick on someone your own size, you bully!" Something brown and lumpy – a piece of chocolate, Hermione realized a moment later, shaped oddly enough like a frog – came flying through the air to hit the Serpent flush on his right cheek, making him do a comical spit-take. He whirled again to search for the perpetrator, losing control of the spell that kept Hermione and Dean rooted to the spot.

"Was that _Justin?!_" Dean exclaimed. Hermione would have told him that indeed, it had been Justin – at the moment, however, she was busy locking eyes with the brave, yet incredibly foolish young Lion, who was preparing to cast a spell at the Serpent. She waved one hand in a _shooing_ gesture. "_Go!_" she mouthed.

Those green eyes narrowed stubbornly, and Hermione worried that he was going to try and be a hero. But then his mother grabbed his shoulder and said a few insistent words. They melted away into the crowd, bags and owl and all.

"Come on," Dean said to Hermione, pulling her away, too. "We've got to find Justin before Mr. Cranky-Robes does."

Luckily, however, it seemed that Hermione, Dean, and Justin had been the sparks needed to start the fire. The fickle crowd, only moments ago content to watch an adult wizard slaughter an innocent boy, now saw fit to follow the children's example by hurling abuse and small objects at the Serpent. He couldn't defend himself from all sides at once, and ended up dropping his wand in an attempt to cover his face with both hands.

Dean and Hermione ducked and weaved like mad, until they reached the relative safety of the sidewalk. There they found Justin, fighting against the flow of the crowd, looking around him in every direction.

"The little bugger followed us," Dean said, shaking his head with reluctant admiration. "Damn it, I'm gonna have to be _nice_ to him now…"

When Justin saw them, his face contorted with an odd mixture of joy and disapproval. "I _told_ you not to go wandering off!" he scolded them, though his tone contained only relief that they were safe. "You could have been-" Hermione cut him off by giving him a hug, which had Justin blushing like a tomato.

"Thank you," Hermione said earnestly. "Now let's get back to Ollivander's before Fudge and Umbridge find out we ever left."

"You barmy little bastard," Dean said, patting Justin approvingly on the back as they ran. "Chocolate frog to the face – ha! You know what I call that? Sweet, sweet justice."

Hermione and Justin groaned in unison.

oOoOo

Harry's mother was furious, although she didn't say a word until they reached the relative safety of Godric's Hollow. Lily Potter was a warm, loving soul, and seeing her with anger in those green eyes felt very strange, even wrong somehow. But Harry was angry too, and he held onto his anger despite the guilt that arose instinctively with his mother's displeasure. "You, stay in the kitchen," Lily growled at Harry. "We're going to have a talk."

Harry knew better than to argue when she used that tone. He placed his school things on the table, and tried to calm himself by making soothing sounds to the owl in the cage that he still carried. He had only bought her hours ago, and she was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen. Her name was Hedwig, and she gazed back at him with intelligent eyes.

Lily went to the fireplace and threw in a handful of powder. "Hogwarts, Professor Black's office," she declared in a carrying tone. She leaned down and stuck her head in the fire – just a quick chat, then, and not a full visit. Harry could only hear her side of the conversation, and what he heard stoked his smoldering anger.

"Sorry to bother you, Sirius, but we had a bit of a problem in Diagon Alley… No, nothing like that… Just ran afoul of that odious cousin of Nott's… could have turned nasty, if not for a few brave children armed with pastries…no, I have no idea who they were, but they certainly pulled our bacon out of the fire… thanks, I appreciate it. He's a cowardly little flobberworm, and he won't risk crossing the House of Black to get even with an insignificant Mudblood… Sirius, you're the best. Harry sends his love."

"No, I don't!" Harry yelped automatically, but his mother paid him no mind. She straightened up and ended the firecall, dusting traces of soot off her face before crossing her arms and fixing Harry with a basilisk stare.

"You already know you were reckless and stupid," Lily began without preamble. "You made a precarious situation even worse."

"He was going to curse you!" Harry protested. "I couldn't just let him."

"Did you forget that I have a wand, and am _vastly_ more experienced than you?" Lily asked, her voice pure acid. "Have I raised you so poorly that you believe all women are weak, useless, and without the means to defend themselves?"

"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed, flustered. "It's just-"

"Just what? You're the man of the house now?" Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I had everything under control. After I blocked his first attack, I would have shown him my pendant with the Black family crest-"

"Sure," Harry broke in bitterly, "and hid behind Sirius like we always do. Tell the whole world that Potters can't fight our own battles-"

Lily looked ready to tear her hair out in frustration. "There is no shame in using _common sense_, Harry! You are truly blessed to have Sirius as a godfather – not least because he has the patience to put up with you – and if we can use the influence of a High House to avoid confrontations, we ought to do so!"

Harry's shoulders hunched stubbornly. "Dad would have beaten that bastard to a pulp," he insisted.

"Your father is dead," Lily snapped. Harry flinched as though she had struck him. Her eyes softened suddenly, and she looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, Harry. But you know as well as I do that things are different now."

Harry looked away. His voice trembled, and he swallowed hard while fighting the tightness in his throat. "I was only trying… to protect you."

His mother pulled him into a tender hug, brushing aside his messy bangs to kiss him gently on the forehead. "I know, Harry. Truly, I do. You're my brave little warrior, and your father would be proud of you. But even a Lion must learn to pick his battles! You're going to Hogwarts tomorrow, but if you start fighting with every spoiled Serpent child who looks at you cross-eyed, they'll send you back home before you have time to unpack."

"I won't start fights at Hogwarts," Harry promised his mother dutifully.

_But I won't run from them, either, _he promised himself. _A Potter doesn't back down… ever._

"I know that mulish look," his mother said, equal parts exasperation and fondness. "You must have inherited it from your father, because you _certainly_ didn't get it from me… ah, why do I even bother? Now it's up to your godfather to keep you out of trouble."

Harry managed a small laugh, glad that peace had been restored, at least for the moment. He hated fighting with his mother, though in the three years since his father's death it seemed to happen more and more often. "_Sirius_, keep me out of trouble?" Harry scoffed. "More like he'll egg me on."

"You're probably right." Lily sighed with mock despair. "Get upstairs and wash up. I'll make something special for our last night. Tomorrow you're a Hogwarts student!"

Harry shared a sad smile with his mother. They were both thinking the same thing… if only his father could have been there. Some of James's favorite stories – they were Harry's favorites, too – had been about his Hogwarts days, and the mischief he got up to with his best friends, the Marauders. Seeing Harry head off to Hogwarts had been one of his father's most cherished dreams.

Up in his room, Harry sat for a moment on his bed, letting his rage and confusion from the incident in Diagon Alley begin to dissipate, pushed aside by his anticipation for the coming year.

At last, he was going to Hogwarts. There he could study Battle Magic, learning magical combat and the art of command and all of the things that his father and Sirius had always refused to teach him on the grounds that he was too young. In seven years he would graduate as an officer in Salazar's Army. Next was a career on the Border, where he would distinguish himself against the forces of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.

He wasn't sure exactly _how _he would distinguish himself, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. What was important was that Harry would make the House of Potter great once again. His mother would get a caste tattoo, and never again would she have to swallow insults from Pureblood wizards without a fraction of her magical talent. They'd never have to hide behind Sirius's coat of arms or family crest again. That was Harry's plan, his self-appointed mission… and it all began at Hogwarts.

Harry nodded sharply to the picture of his father located on his dresser, right next to his bed. Captain James Potter was tall and imposing in his military uniform, his usually messy black hair closely shaved, with one arm around a younger Lily and a blanket-wrapped bundle that was Harry as a baby. Harry fished out the necklace that he always wore under his shirt – it was made from the stinger cut from the tail of the manticore that had ended his father's life, de-venomed and shrunk magically to fit on a length of braided cord. He gripped it tightly.

"I'll make you proud, Dad. I swear it."


	5. The Tale of Trevor

**A/N: **I'm back! This chapter covers the events on the Hogwarts Express, and introduces some themes that will become important later on.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter

**Chapter 4: The Tale of Trevor, the Troublesome Toad**

Hermione stood in the middle of King's Cross Station, completely bewildered by the spectacle in front of her. Muggles with trolleys were everywhere, bustling to and fro, and not a one seemed to notice the witches and wizards disappearing into the wall between Platforms 9 and 10. To Hermione, it was yet another reminder of the gulf between her old world and the one she lived in now. Muggles and wizards were literally side-by-side, some even bumping into each other, yet somehow still separated by a vast, invisible gulf.

At least Hermione wasn't alone. Justin and Dean stood beside her, and Hermione was glad they did. The mysterious Hogwarts didn't seem quite so frightening with friends she could rely on.

Umbridge and Fudge also stood with them, although their presence was considerably less than welcome. Hermione was, however, grateful for their _presents_ – Hermione was now the proud owner of many wizardly school supplies, thanks to the monetary aid included in the Hogwarts scholarship.

The prize of the whole collection was the wand in her pocket, eleven and three-quarter inches of vine wood with a dragon heartstring. She patted her robes for the hundredth time, marveling at how light it was.

Hermione couldn't wait to use it in earnest. At last, a deadly weapon of her very own.

An approving _meow_ came from Hermione's feet. Hermione chuckled as Crookshanks rubbed up against her leg. He must have sensed her thoughts tending towards the bloodthirsty, which was a direction the cat-kneazle cross favored.

Hermione had decided to buy Crookshanks on a whim, when she saw the grumpy feline with the squashed face fighting off an attendant trying to put him back in his cage. Hermione had wandered over to watch – Crookshanks fought a losing battle, but he managed to leave the attendant with a set of deep, bloody grooves down his left cheek.

Hermione took it as a sign. This creature was powerless against its wizard masters just like she was, but still he fought like a clawed tornado. Hermione _liked_ this furry little warrior. She liked his intelligent eyes, and the vicious way he spat at his handler through the bars of his cage.

"How much for the orange cat, sir?" she'd asked, and the attendant named a price less than half of what the other cats cost.

While Fudge was still signing forms and settling the bill for three animals, Hermione had ducked out the back with a struggling Crookshanks in her arms. Just outside the door, Hermione dropped the tabby, who landed with typical feline grace.

"Go on," Hermione said, waving her hand at the animal. "Get out of here. I'll tell them you ran away… one of us deserves to be free. Get going, little furball, and mind you stay far away from wizards!"

Crookshanks had merely looked at her, tail crooked and eyebrows raised in haughty expectation. "What are you waiting for?" Hermione demanded, expecting Fudge or Umbridge to emerge any second. "Shoo!"

Not so much as a twitch. As an experiment, Hermione opened the door and began to walk back into the pet store. Crookshanks followed. "Well," Hermione said, strangely pleased. "Have it your way, then."

Dean and Justin also had new pets to look after. Dean's familiar was a tawny owl that he called Hunter. Justin ended up with a six-month old rat named Feather. According to the attendant, Feather had received her name because she thought she was an owl. She kept escaping from her cage and jumping from the tall counter, trying to fly.

"Why would you buy a rat like that?" Dean had demanded. "She's a nutcase!"

"She's ambitious," Justin had replied, somehow managing to sound dignified. "It's not the same thing."

They had their familiars: cat, owl, and rat. They had their wands, their books, their clothes and quills and supplies. Now they stood in front of the barrier in King's Cross Station, and in spite of the fact that it represented the new life ahead of them, none wanted to be first to approach it.

"Partings are never easy," Fudge said, sounding choked up. "But here, at last, is where we must leave you. Do your best in Hogwarts, and I'm sure you'll do fine."

Umbridge had her own words of wisdom for them. "No matter where you go in life, you began at Madame Umbridge's Preparatory Academy. Never forget that."

"We won't," the children chorused.

_I won't forget, _Hermione added for herself alone. _I won't forget _anything.

She struck out first towards the barrier, leaving Fudge and Umbridge behind – hopefully for a very long time. Justin and Dean caught up to her a second later. Dean looked back over his shoulder just before they hit the barrier, and made an exaggerated gagging noise.

"What is it?" Justin asked.

"Fudge and Umbridge," he whispered. "Waving goodbye like we're all some big, happy family. I may vomit."

"The Superintendent was really nice to us," Justin said, mildly scandalized. "He didn't have to buy us our supplies or come all this way to see us off. I think it's kind of nice of him."

"Shut up, Justin," Dean said, though without much venom. The boys were still squabbling when they passed through the barrier, but they shut up quickly enough when they saw the enormous, gleaming train waiting at the tracks. Dozens of wizarding families clustered around the boarding area, waving goodbye to students of all ages. Hermione's throat tightened upon seeing so many parents bidding loving farewells to their children.

_I didn't even get that much…_

No matter. That was the past. The Hogwarts Express would bear her towards her future.

By unspoken agreement, Hermione, Dean, and Justin boarded the train a little way down the platform, where it wasn't so crowded. They lugged their trunks up the steps and went in search of an empty compartment. After stowing their belongings, they simply stared at each other in mutual amazement.

The frozen moment was broken by Feather, who scampered up Justin's arm and launched herself into free fall by pushing off Justin's shoulder. Justin grabbed for the airborne rat and snatched her tail, momentum bringing her up in a wide arc like a furry little yo-yo. Feather made little squeaks of joy, happier than any rat had a right to be while swinging through the air.

Hermione laughed so hard she had to double up and clutch her stomach, and Dean was no better. "I think…" Dean gasped, forcing the words out between spurts of laugher, "you've just invented… a new game. Now you'll have to improve… your hand-eye coordination… or your rat will go splat!"

Justin swung Feather once more before placing her back on his shoulder. "Bloody rat's going to give me a heart attack…" he muttered, belying his words by stroking Feather gently with one finger.

Somewhere a whistle blew, and the three friends hurried to the window to watch the Hogwarts Express leave the station. They left London far behind, and soon the countryside was hurtling by their window at astonishing speeds.

When they had settled back into their seats, Hermione remembered there was something important she needed to tell her friends.

"Justin? Dean?" She was gratified by how quickly they gave her their full attention. "I was thinking… about when we get to Hogwarts. Nobody will know that we're Mudbloods, I mean, except the Headmaster and maybe the professors. We have Badger tattoos, and as far as the students are concerned we're no different from any other Badger. That gives us protection, if we're smart enough."

"Whatever you say, boss," Dean replied. His words were flippant, but he met Hermione's gaze and his tone was deathly serious.

"Boss?" she said, making the word a question.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You brought us this far. Seems to me you're doing a good job. I'll follow you until you tell me not to."

Hermione looked at Justin, stifling a growing sense of amazement.

"Maybe I would have gotten the scholarship on my own," he said, looking down at his shoes. When he looked up, he was grinning. "But I'm glad I never had to find out. I… like this. The three of us, I mean. And you made it happen. I'll follow your lead, Hermione."

"Look at Justin, getting all sentimental!" Dean crowed. "Come here, you!" He put an arm around Justin's neck and began throwing mock punches with his other hand.

Justin squirmed like an eel, while Feather jumped onto Dean's head and chittered gleefully.

"Geroff!" Dean shouted.

"Get him, Feather!" Justin urged his rat.

For her part, Hermione only smiled, feeling oddly humbled. _Three Mudbloods about to take Hogwarts by storm… and the others are looking to me for leadership. When did _that_ happen?_

She gave the question some serious thought. It had probably started the moment Justin made room for them at his table in the library. And, of course, it ended when Justin put himself in danger to save them, braving a Serpent's wrath for his two friends. Whatever they had started out as, they were now a team.

It was comforting to realize that she was no longer along, but worrying as well. When Hermione's only priorities had been escape and revenge, things were simpler. Her new responsibility to her friends would bring a whole host of complications.

Hermione's confused thoughts were interrupted by a knock on their compartment door. She opened it to reveal a slightly chubby boy their own age, with dark hair and a nervous demeanor.

"Sorry to bother you," he said with a fretful, hangdog air, "but I've lost my familiar. Have you seen a toad around?"

"No-" Hermione cut off when she saw the boy's Serpent tattoo. Justin saw it at the same time, and almost fell over himself turning on the charm.

"Why no, sir, I'm so sorry. If I may ask, sir, where you last saw your toad?"

"Er…" the black-haired boy stammered, clearly uncomfortable with Justin's groveling tone. Hermione caught Dean's eyes and jerked her chin towards Justin. He gave Justin a swift quick in the shin.

"Ow!" Justin yelled. Hermione took advantage of the distraction to address herself to the young Serpent.

"I'm Hermione," she said, trusting her instincts. This boy seemed very insecure, which was a good thing. She could use that. "Who are you?"

"I'm Neville Longbottom. Sorry, but I should really go… there are a lot more compartments to search…" he trailed off, looking miserable.

"Would you like some help?" Hermione asked. "I've got time, and I've always been taught to help people in need."

His relief was almost tangible. "Oh, you wouldn't mind? Thank you! The thought of going into all those compartments on my own is a little… scary…"

"No problem. Justin and Dean can stay here – I'm sure they prefer fighting to toad-searching." She turned away from Neville and fixed the boys with a stern glare. _Behave, _she mouthed. Dean gave her a mock salute, while Justin continued to rub his shin.

Hermione felt a little bad about that, but he had used completely the wrong approach. The kind of fawning obedience that was necessary when dealing with Umbridge was definitely not the way to approach such an obviously insecure boy, even if he was a Serpent.

It wouldn't hurt to have a Serpent in her debt, even if he _was_ rather a sorry specimen, and even if the debt in question was nothing more serious than a missing toad.

_Everything starts somewhere, _Hermione reminded herself. _Even the mightiest castles are built one brick at a time._

"You boys play nice," she admonished Justin and Dean as she ushered Neville outside. "I'm off to help Neville here find his toad."

oOoOo

Harry said goodbye to his mother and boarded the Hogwarts Express with all possible haste. He was a Potter, and Potters did not cry when leaving their mothers. Not even if they really, really wanted to. He refused to look over his shoulder. He would see Mum again at Christmas, which was only three months away. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

After passing a few compartments already filled to capacity, Harry wound up outside a compartment with only one student sitting inside. It was the red hair that caught Harry's eye, and he found himself moving automatically to the door.

_It's only because he looks lonely, _Harry told himself. _It's _not _because he has red hair like Mum. _That would have been childish.

Once Harry was inside, the two boys eyed each other warily. In addition to his red hair, the other boy had a sprinkling of freckles on his face and a smudge on his nose. He had a Serpent tattoo, but Harry wasn't going to make that an issue unless the other boy brought it up first.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care one way or the other.

"Sure. M'name's Ron Weasley. What's yours?"

"Harry Potter. You related to a Sergeant Bilius Weasley?"

"Sure," Ron replied. "He was my great-uncle… died ages ago. How'd you know?"

"My dad used to-" Harry swallowed, still not used to the past tense, "-used to tell me stories. About Hogwarts, the Border… everything, really. Anyway, I remember him saying Sergeant Bilius was the meanest CO he ever had."

_Always watch out for the redheads, _James had said, ducking when Lily shot sparks at him with her wand. _They're trouble._

"Sounds about right," Ron shrugged. "Great-uncle Bilius was a mean old snake. If you're Harry Potter… are you related to _Captain_ Potter?"

Harry winced. If Ron knew of his dad, chances were he knew that the Potters used to be one of the High Houses, until James had been disowned and stripped of his caste. Now, if Ron was like most Serpent children, he would do one of two things: either make fun of him, at which point Harry would have to fight him; or treat him with pity, which was even worse.

"My brother loves your dad's book."

"…huh?" _That_ was unexpected.

"You know, that military manual, what was it called…" Ron's face scrunched up in concentration. "Right, got it. _Tactics and Terrain in Wizarding Warfare._ My brother Bill read it years ago, and never stopped gushing about how brilliant it was. I think he still keeps a copy with him."

"Wow... I never knew my dad wrote something like that," Harry admitted, wondering why Sirius had never mentioned it. He resolved to get his hands on a copy as soon as possible. "So is your brother in the Army?"

"Bill's a Curse-Breaker. He travels to different Border outposts and dismantles traps left by Dark wizards to ambush our scouts. Sometimes they call him in to repair wards and things like that."

"Wicked," Harry said. "I bet you have to be really smart to be a Curse-Breaker."

"Oh, Bill's a right genius," Ron said with a sigh. "He took loads of advanced Arithmancy at Hogwarts. Then there's my brother Charlie, who's a genius with animals. He's a Creature Specialist at an outpost in the Alps."

"He's a Tamer?" Harry repeated, impressed. Magical Creature Specialists, usually referred to as Tamers, were wizards who trained dangerous beasts to make outposts more secure. Since many magical creatures were hard to control, opinions varied about the usefulness of Tamers on the battlefield. James had always been in favor of them, Harry remembered. And of course, Harry knew only too well how devastating certain creatures could be in combat… he gripped his manticore necklace briefly to ward away painful memories.

"Sorry if this is rude," Harry said after a moment, "but… you're a Serpent, aren't you? Why does your family have so many soldiers?"

Ron shrugged. "Just turned out that way," he said. "My Dad says Weasleys have been guarding the Border ever since there was a Border to guard. We might not have a lot of money, but we always serve the Realm… that's what my Dad says, anyway." He seemed self-conscious, but as far as Harry was concerned Ron had a right to be proud. A military tradition going back more than a hundred years was impressive.

Then Ron seemed to deflate. "I want to be a great battle mage like my brothers, but I'm not like them at all. All I can do is play chess…"

"Rubbish!" Harry said. "My dad told me every soldier has something to offer, as long as they're willing to put their life on the line to defend the Realm. We've got seven years to learn what we're good at!"

That caused Ron to brighten a little. "I guess you're right…"

"I know I'm right." Harry wanted to get Ron's mind off of what was obviously an old and familiar fear. "Say, what creatures does your brother train? Gryphons? Hippogriffs? My dad told me he once had a Tamer who raised demiguises and supplied the soldiers with short-term Invisibility Cloaks…"

Ron gave him a wide grin. "He works with dragons."

"Dragons?! I thought they were too unreliable for Border fighting."

"Usually they are," Ron said, enthusiasm overflowing in his voice. Apparently he was as fascinated as Harry was by the strategy involved in holding the Border against Grindewald's Dark forces. "Most Captains don't bother with dragons because they can be as dangerous to their handlers as the enemy. But Charlie and a few other Tamers have been trying to change that. See, dragons are really well suited to certain situations. Take Inferi, for example. Dark wizards will throw away thousands at a time to try and overwhelm an outpost, and even the strongest wizard can't hold a fire spell forever. But dragons don't run out of flame, and Charlie says they hate Inferi _much_ more than they hate humans. One dragon can turn an army of Inferi to ash. Charlie tethers his dragons with long chains, so they can fly just enough to avoid getting flanked. Of course, enemy wizards will try to neutralize our advantage by blinding the dragons with a Conjunctivitis Curse or something, but Charlie says that's actually a _good_ thing because it draws out the wizards, who are the most important targets anyway-"

Ron stopped to take a breath, realized how fast he'd been talking, and flushed red. "Sorry…" he muttered. "I get excited about this kind of stuff…"

"No problem, mate," Harry laughed. "I do, too."

_And what nonsense was that about Ron not being as smart as his brothers? _Harry wondered. _He seems to grasp battlefield tactics well enough._

Harry suspected Ron's apparent sense of inferiority was due more to a lack of confidence than any lack of potential. He would just have to wait and see.

"My dad, my godfather, and I used to talk about fighting on the Border all the time."

Ron hesitated for a moment. "That's… the second time you've said _used to._ Did your dad pass away?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He found that it didn't hurt so much to talk to Ron about it. He valued James' sacrifice in a way that rich Serpents, who grew up believing that fighting was something _other_ people did, never could.

Taking Ron's expectant gaze as permission, Harry began to tell the story, exactly as his godfather had told him after the funeral. Sirius had found Harry hiding in his bathroom upstairs, tears staining his cheeks, and instead of telling him to go down and accept the mourners' condolences, Sirius had sat there with Harry and asked him if he wanted to hear what happened.

"There was a battle three years ago," Harry began, while Ron listened wide-eyed. "Bigger than the usual skirmishes. Thousands of Inferi in the vanguard, with Dementors around them to sap the soldiers' energy. Dad coordinated the defense, alternating Patronus Charms and waves of fire. He ordered Sirius – that's my godfather, Sirius Black – to take my father's broom and Invisibility Cloak and circle around to pick off the enemy wizards. They were staying back, out of range of the Anti-Apparition Wards, and picking our guys off one by one while they held off the Dementors and Inferi."

Sirius had begun crying when he reached this part of the story, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged a trembling, eight-year-old Harry close.

"Things were turning our way, until a group of Dark wizards on brooms dropped a manticore in the middle of our forces. My dad… he Banished his soldiers before the manticore could get any of them, then created a Shield Charm around himself and the manticore to keep anyone from trying to help him. The manticore could have broken the shield 'cause it's resistant to magic, but my dad fought it alone, with just his wand and a goblin-forged dagger."

After assassinating a dozen Dark wizards and crippling the enemy leadership, Sirius had returned to his own side, only to see James locked in a duel to the death. He couldn't break the Shield Charm, which James had cast with every ounce of his magical power. So Sirius had been forced to watch, helpless, as his best friend fought alone.

"The important thing was avoiding the tail," Harry explained to Ron, visualizing the fight as he had so often in the past three years. "A manticore's sting is instant death. No antidote, no time to counter-attack before the poison sets in. So Dad Transfigured some blades of grass into ropes that trapped the beast's tail. He managed to cut off its stinger, but had to leave himself open to the manticore's claws. He got slashed pretty bad, and dropped his knife. Manticores are almost as smart as humans, so the bastard knew it had him. As it came in for the kill, my dad used the Summoning Charm on his knife. Caught it and stabbed the manticore in the same motion, right in the eye, piercing its brain."

Ron was on the edge of his seat, looking ready to cheer. "So he won!"

"Yeah, but he got caught in the manticore's death throes, and none of his men were Healers. At least he got to say goodbye to Sirius at the end. He told him to bring the manticore's stinger back and give it to me, as one last keepsake."

Harry took out his necklace and showed it to Ron.

"Wow, Harry… your dad was brilliant!"

"He was a soldier," Harry said. "Just like your brothers. Just like we're going to be. Right?"

Ron's eyes lit with determination. "Bloody right! Harry… thanks for telling me. About your dad, I mean. I know that can't have been easy."

"That was the first time I've told anybody that story since I heard it," Harry said. "I think it helps to tell. But that's enough from me. Tell me more about your family."

Lighter topics carried them through the next hour, with Harry learning about Ron's other brothers and his younger sister, Ginny. He was told of the infamous exploits of Fred and George, the mischief-loving twins who were a few years ahead of them in Hogwarts. The only break in the story-telling came when a kindly witch passed by their compartment, pushing a trolley full of snacks.

Harry and his mother weren't wealthy by any means – not after they had been cut out of the Potter family inheritance, anyway – but James Potter's pension was enough to cover Harry's Hogwarts tuition with a little left over for spending money. He had no compunctions, therefore, about buying a decent number of Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs. He spread them in a pile on the seat and urged Ron to take some.

Some time later, when all that remained of the sweets were a few crinkled wrappers, the door to their compartment opened and a girl with large front teeth and bushy hair walked in.

"Excuse me, but has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one…" then she saw Harry, and her face flooded with recognition. "You!"

It was the girl from Diagon Alley. Harry shot to his feet. "_You_! What are you doing here?"

The girl stared at him. "Going to Hogwarts, of course. Look, Neville's lost his toad. Have you seen it?"

A dark-haired boy peeked in the compartment, almost hiding behind the girl. "Still poking your nose in other people's business, I see," Harry snapped. A small voice told him he was being unfair, that she had only been trying to help, but he told the voice to shut up. She had no right to stop that duel.

"Of all the stubborn, pig-headed-" she stopped, fuming. "I _was _going to ask if you were alright, but if you're going to insist on being a bonehead, I won't bother. Come on, Neville. The only toad in here is _him!_"

She swept out of the compartment with her nose in the air, Neville trailing behind like a soggy puppy. After the door closed Harry and Ron looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

"A right bossyboots, that one, isn't she?" Ron said. "How do you know her, Harry?"

"I don't know her," he replied immediately. "She just stirred up some trouble in Diagon Alley." His tone made it clear that he didn't want to explain further, and Ron didn't push.

However, Harry had a niggling sense that he was in the wrong. The girl _had _put herself in danger, after all – she might even have been badly hurt, if the people in the crowd hadn't distracted the murderous Serpent by pelting him with more stuff.

Harry could hear his mother's voice in his head, screaming like a Howler.

_You march after her right now, Harry James Potter, and apologize! Thank her for trying to help you, while you're at it!_

His mother's voice was much harder to ignore than his conscience. Harry dithered, hoping to think of a reason to go after the girl that wouldn't make him look weak in front of Ron. Then it came to him – the perfect excuse. And the best part was, it wasn't even really an excuse.

"Ron, did she call that boy Neville earlier?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Another one of my dad's stories. He loved to talk about his friends from Hogwarts, Frank and Alice Longbottom. He said they were some of the best Aurors he ever met, and it was a shame they died before they got to know their son."

"His parents were Aurors?" Ron said doubtfully. "You sure? You'd think he'd be a bit less… like that. You know?"

"I know what you mean," Harry allowed, "but it must have been tough growing up without any parents. Also, anybody would be a little scared of that bushy-haired terror. I think we ought to rescue him from her, don't you?"

Ron stood up and made for the door, grinning. "Sounds downright charitable, mate."

"Our first rescue mission," Harry laughed. "Save Neville Longbottom!" 

_And apologize to the girl… _he added silently. _Just so I can stop feeling guilty. I only hope no one's around to hear._

The two new friends rushed out into the hallway in pursuit of Neville, his bossy helper, and the missing toad.

oOoOo

"Goyle, is that your toad?"

Hermione froze, hardly daring to hope. It seemed like she had led Neville into dozens of compartments by now, with no sign of the elusive Trevor. But the voice coming from just beyond the next door was talking about a toad… could it be?

"No, Draco. Mine's in my pocket. Must have hopped in here on its own."

Hermione's heart soared, and she grinned at Neville. Crooking her thumb toward the compartment, she began walking to the door.

"Well, then," said the first voice, cultured and malicious. "Why don't we have a little fun? I'll buy one Chocolate Frog for every time you hit the toad with sparks."

A chorus of laughter greeted his challenge, followed by several sizzling _cracks_ and a startled _croak_. Neville pushed Hermione aside in his haste to get through the door, the horror on his face reflecting Hermione's.

The compartment held four boys and a girl. Two of the boys were very large and extremely ugly, and they sat on either side of a shorter, slender boy with bleached-blond hair and a superior sneer. Those three had their wands out, pointing at a toad on the floor that looked a little the worse for wear.

Three wands snapped up when the door opened, and Neville flinched. In the hallway, Hermione flinched as well, but for a different reason. Each one of the five children here had a Serpent tattoo.

"Trevor!" Neville shouted, lunging forward. However, one of the hulking boys blocked his path, moving rather quickly considering his size. The other picked up Trevor with a hand like a spade.

"It's rude to barge into another compartment, you know," the blond boy drawled. "Especially when you haven't introduced yourself."

"I'm Neville Longbottom." The boy was bristling with anger now, showing no trace of his previous timid behavior. "Give me back my toad!"

"Longbottom?" The boy sounded surprised. "That's one of the High Houses… there's an Augusta Longbottom on the Pureblood Council."

"She's my Gran," Neville said, biting off each word and hurling them out like a challenge.

"Crabbe, give the boy his toad. Give him some space, Goyle." Neville took Trevor back from Crabbe, and cradled his toad against his chest. The blond boy stood, and held out his hand to Neville. Neville eyed it like he would a snake. "Listen, it was just a bit of harmless fun. No one got hurt, right?" His smile was oily and insincere. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Then there's Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and last but not least we have Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. Purebloods all, from honorable families of good standing. There's room for one more in our compartment - would you care to join us?"

"I'd rather not, thanks." Neville's voice shook with repressed rage.

Draco's smile was almost pitying. "Have it your way. We wouldn't want to sit with someone who can't take a joke, anyway."

The only girl in the compartment – Pansy, if Hermione had heard correctly – looked past Neville at her, and her eyes narrowed. "Draco, who's the girl? She's Badger."

"Oh?" Inquisitive blue eyes locked on to her, and Malfoy sneered. "Why are you hiding out in the hallway, little Badger girl? Come closer."

Hermione kept her face lowered, so they couldn't see her dismay. She'd only wanted to do a Serpent a favor, not draw the attention of an entire crew of upper-caste bullies! Cursing her bad luck, she did as she was told. If she'd learned anything from Umbridge and the Mudhouse, it was how to appear subservient and eager to please.

_Meek, _she told herself. _Must be meek._

"And who might you be?" Malfoy's asked in a superior tone, playing it up for the benefit of his lackeys.

This, Hermione decided, was a situation that called for Justin's earlier servility. Draco Malfoy was _exactly_ the same kind of Serpent as Umbridge, if a little less imposing. Next to the Headmistress's palpable aura of menace, Malfoy just seemed like a child putting on airs. Still, Hermione knew what was expected of her, and she would stick to her script.

"Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger. I was just helping Mr. Longbottom find his toad."

"You help your betters… good. How much of your blood is pure?"

Hermione thought rapidly. "I don't know, sir. My parents died when I was very young, so I grew up with my aunt. She didn't talk about them much. I must be part Mudblood, though, or I wouldn't be a Badger."

She tried to put as much scorn as possible into the word "Mudblood."

Hermione was confident that she could get out of this situation soon – she just had to flatter Malfoy's ego, and pretend that she hated any impurity in her own blood even more than he did. Simple and easy… until Neville decided to step in.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, walking out of the compartment towards her. "Let's get out of here."

Hermione could have smacked him for his ill-timed bravery. Malfoy's face darkened as the boy who'd refused his offer of a seat turned his back.

"Hold it, Longbottom. I haven't finished my conversation with Miss Granger."

In spite of Hermione's hatred for Serpents in general, it was a little heart-wrenching to see Neville standing up for her. He had only met her an hour ago, and he had no idea that she was manipulating him for her own gain. Yet he put himself between her and Malfoy, even though he was clearly terrified.

It didn't stop her from being annoyed with him for interfering, of course. "I didn't ask for your help," she hissed.

"You helped me find Trevor. It's only right I stand up for you," he whispered. Then his voice grew louder, though he couldn't keep from stuttering. "We-we're leaving, Malfoy."

"Not if you know what's good for you," the blond replied. "Crabbe, Goyle, why don't you teach Longbottom not to interrupt his betters while I have a chat with Miss Granger."

"Get away from him!" shouted a familiar voice.

Two boys came crashing down the hallway – it was the Lion child from Diagon Alley and his red-headed friend. The black-haired boy planted himself directly between Neville and Goyle, staring down the larger boy without batting an eye. He looked behind him long enough to give Neville a thumbs up. "Found a fight already, eh, Neville? Looks like you're a Longbottom after all!"

"Er… what?"

This situation was rapidly deteriorating, and Hermione could only glare at the idiot Lion who seemed to thrive on making her life difficult. "Now who's butting in?" she said, injecting her tone with every ounce of venom she could.

"I didn't see _you_ doing anything," he retorted. "What's the matter, couldn't find any cream pies?"

Hermione practically hissed at him, while Neville and the redhead just looked baffled.

Meanwhile, all of the Serpents in the compartment had gathered, flanking Malfoy like silent bodyguards. "Do you have a problem with Neville?" demanded the black-haired Lion. "Or are you just a bully?"

"You're making a big mistake," Malfoy drawled. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"A real pain in the arse, apparently. I promised I wouldn't start any fights this year, but the way I see it, you're the one starting things here. So go ahead, if you think you're man enough. You can even bring your friends, I don't mind."

"Just don't mess up his face too bad, Harry," the redhead laughed. "His father wouldn't like that. Lucius Malfoy could make things difficult for you."

"I thought that was you, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "Care to place a bet on how long your father keeps his seat on the Council after his son is convicted of assault?"

"Running to your Daddy already?" scoffed the redhead. "Wonder how he sleeps at night, with such a pathetic excuse for an heir."

Malfoy's pale face flushed with rage. "_What_ did you say to me?"

Harry looked at the redhead and laughed. "Not too bright, is he, Ron? Must be all those generations of inbreeding."

"You'll pay for that, you-" but Malfoy stopped in the middle of his sentence, staring at Harry. "Weasley called you 'Harry.' You're Harry Potter?"

"Last I checked."

Malfoy's anger abruptly disappeared, replaced by mirth. He laughed and laughed while Harry clenched his fists. "I heard about your family from my father. Son of James Potter, the man who single-handedly brought down the House of Potter. A line that lasted a thousand years, destroyed because of a Mudblood whore."

Harry's wand was out in the blink of an eye, but Ron was even faster. He grabbed Harry's wand arm and pulled so that Harry was facing him. "Don't cast the first spell, Harry," Ron said. "It's what he wants."

Instead of struggling with Ron, Harry caught Malfoy's gaze. "This isn't over, Malfoy."

"I don't fight with the likes of you, _Potter_," Malfoy sneered. "After all, I couldn't possibly humiliate you any more than you already are."

He shut the compartment door, not quite muffling the laughter that followed.

"It's all right, mate," Ron said, releasing Harry. "Pick your battles."

Neville approached Harry, looking a little intimidated. "Thanks… for standing up to him, I mean…"

Harry tore his gaze away from Malfoy's compartment with difficulty, brightening a little when he saw Neville. "Not a problem. I wasn't about to let a Longbottom get roughed up by a prick like that."

"W-we don't know each other, do we?"

"My father told me about you," Harry said. "Apparently our parents were good friends. I wonder why we never met growing up."

Neville blushed with shame. "My parents died when I was little, and my Gran didn't want me mixing with anyone outside the Serpent caste. She said I needed to respect my station. And I didn't play with many other Serpent kids, 'cause she was embarrassed on account of how bad I am at magic. I… I didn't have many friends growing up."

"That explains it, I reckon." Harry's voice was a falsely cheerful. "But we can be friends now, right? I won't tell your Gran if you don't. I'm Harry.

"And I'm Ron. We've got space in our compartment if you'd like to join us."

Neville looked back and forth between them, his face lighting up like a torch. "Really? You don't mind?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all. You seem like a decent bloke."

Neville turned to Hermione, obviously thinking he should invite her, too. "Go on," she urged him. "I'm glad you found your toad. Try to keep a better eye on him from now on, all right? I've got to get back to Justin and Dean."

She turned away, cutting him off in the middle of a stammering expression of his gratitude.

_Bloody hell, _she thought as she walked away. _I hope Draco Malfoy didn't lump me in with Harry and Ron. I don't need an enemy with such powerful connections. At least Neville found that blasted toad._

She had to smile a little as she made her way through the train, back to Justin and Dean. She was very surprised when a hand caught her wrist. She pulled free and turned, coming face to face with Harry Potter. Instead of following the other two, he had come after her.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

He ground his teeth. "I wanted to… to apologize," he said, making it sound like a curse word. "I know you were only trying to help in Diagon Alley, even though I didn't want you to." He heaved a big sigh when he finished, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Hermione gasped, infuriated by his high-handed attempt at an apology. "That wizard was going to kill you, you arrogant brat. Next time I'll just sit back and watch!"

His eyes narrowed. "Like you did with Neville?"

"_What?_"

"I saw you before I yelled. Those big gorillas were about to grab him, and you didn't even try to stop them. Why not?"

Hermione scrambled for an answer. "Because… because fighting is against the rules, that's why!"

Now he looked puzzled. "You didn't seem like much of a rule-follower in Diagon Alley. What changed?"

_Everything._

"None of your business! Now if you've satisfied your conscience with that pathetic apology, I'm going back to my compartment. Don't follow me, or I'll report you once we get to school."

Harry recoiled, and barked a harsh laugh. "Follow you?! As if. You stay away from me!"

"My pleasure."

They walked in opposite directions, back to their respective compartments and the friends awaiting them.

A train whistle blew, drowning out all other sound for several long seconds. All throughout the Hogwarts Express, students began to chatter and speculate and stare out the window; waiting, expecting, hoping.

They were about to arrive at Hogwarts.


End file.
